Denver: Must Love Dogs

Denverites love dogs. My husband and I took a recent walk in the Highlands looking for happy hour, and along the way, there were dogs tied to trees and street signs. They casually waited while their owners enjoyed a $5 glass of Malbec from a nearby patio.

This was not the case for my husband and I, because a) our dog would never calmly wait if she were more than 2 feet away from us or if she didn’t have a giant bone to chew on for the duration and b) All three restaurants we walked into, we also awkwardly walked out of a few minutes later, because we sat ourselves and then no waiter or bartender came to help us. Then we fretted that we weren’t supposed to seat ourselves, and we were breaking the norms of the establishment. Restaurants, a simple “Please Seat Yourselves” or “Please Wait to be Seated” is all I want.

Back from our night out on the town, my husband was wrestling around with our dog. She performed a perfect jump that planted a blow to my husband’s nose, and he started bleeding and nearly passing out. A trip to urgent care again proved my point:  Denverites love dogs. When we walked in, the receptionist and nurse livened up as soon as they found out what happened. “What kind of dog?? Oh! How adorable. My neighbor has a chocolate lab, and he’s so full of energy!” My husband nodded his throbbing noggin, patiently listening to a graphic story about a dog’s claw that pierced through a man’s lip.

I absently smiled, stealing glances at my husband to check for signs of internal bleeding, brain damage, hypothermia. Blood tends to trigger my hypochondriac tendencies. After the doctor blandly tested the Hubs for a concussion and felt up his nose, he gave the diagnosis. “Eh, you should be fine.” Then he perked up! “My two dogs are crazy! They’re big and they bowl me over when they get excited …”