L.A. Affairs: After chasing his tail, this suitor found the right date with the right dog
The first time I went on a date with Audrey, we met at the Jazz Bakery in Hollywood. She was smart, funny and attractive, and by the third date she invited me to her home to pick her up. It was then that I met her two huge boxers. She was holding them back as she answered the door, and my first impression was that each animal seemed to be about my size.
She invited me in and then said: “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Take a seat in the living room.” The two dogs had followed her briefly but then quickly returned to what they must have thought would be their next meal — me. I sat quietly as they eyed me. Then I said to myself, “I’ll just get up and check out her bookshelves.” I’d just started to rise when they started a low growl. I thought it best to sit back down.
I wondered if I should call out to Audrey for a little assistance. Trying not to show my fear, I raised my voice slightly and said: “Help!” That, in turn, prompted the dogs to show their teeth, in addition to growling. I sat there, petrified, until she returned, rubbing their heads as she chatted with me.
We went out for a fun evening, and when we got back, I asked Audrey to lock the dogs in another room. Things started to progress nicely. We started kissing in the kitchen, but just about then, one of the dogs got loose and started jumping on me. I excused myself, left the doggie show and never went back.
The next week, I was walking in Brentwood on a Sunday when I spied an absolutely beautiful woman pushing a covered baby carriage. I enjoy meeting people on my walks and love babies, so I said, “Hello, what a beautiful day.” She agreed, and the chitchat began. After we walked for a block or so, I bent over to see the child that I assumed was in the carriage. She peeled back the cover to reveal her baby, which turned out to be a very well-groomed poodle.
But it was small. And I was feeling optimistic. So we exchanged numbers and made a date for a Friday night.
I’d arranged to meet her outside her condo just off Sunset Boulevard. Twenty minutes after our appointed meeting time, she showed up and apologized for her lateness, explaining that her dog wasn’t feeling well and wasn’t eating. She didn’t know if it was OK to leave him alone. Maybe, she suggested, we shouldn’t go to dinner.
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After about 10 minutes, I was able to persuade her to come with me to Pastina Trattoria in Westwood. But every 15 minutes or so, she mentioned the dog. Then she took out her cellphone to call home so that Harold, the dog named after her second husband, could hear her voice on the message machine. Flaky? Yes, but she was lovely. So I called to make another date and got about 10 minutes worth of chatter about how I should come and spend time with the dog. I declined.
I tried dating again, this time a woman named Mirabel who seemed wonderful in every way. She’d invited me to pick her up at her home, and I was inspired to dress up. I looked good; I felt good. I arrived, rang the bell and after a few moments finally heard someone coming to the door. I anticipated seeing her smiling face, and indeed I did, for one second or so, until two of the biggest, ugliest dogs I’d ever seen started barking and jumping, scraping their dirty paws on my best clothes and almost bowling me over. I don’t know what kind of dogs they were; I’m not sure anyone could have figured that out. All I know is that the smaller of the two barked at me constantly as her owner showed me around the house, and the larger one continued to jump on me.
Mirabel smiled and cooed at them and didn’t exactly ask them to stop. On the way to dinner, she talked to me about, well, the dogs. She wanted to return home as soon as possible; she hadn’t walked the dogs because of the rain. She was worried another storm might come. She was worried about their new leather collars. Would the rain shrink the leather and choke the dogs? As we got home, she dismissed me at once. Clearly, the walk was all she had on her mind. Needless to say, I never went back to face the three of them again.
It was hard for me to imagine dating another pet owner. Then it all changed when I met Madeline, a lovely little Yorkshire terrier, and Linda, her equally lovely owner. Madeline hardly ever barked; she licked my fingers, kissed my face and snuggled on my lap. Her demeanor was pleasant. The same could be said for Linda, who also kissed and snuggled with me. It’s been an affair made in dog heaven.
Sclar is a writer, publisher and business consultant who lives in West Los Angeles.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the current dating scene in and around Los Angeles. If you have comments or a true story to tell, email us at home@latimes.com. We pay $300 a column.
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