Author: Rich Goldsmith

Crotches are rarely sniffed or nuzzled within the first five minutes of a first date, yet even with ten first dates occurring simultaneously in a crowded Warehouse District coffee shop, this was no ordinary dating scenario. The distracting backdrop of panting, whining, pawing, and the occasional licking of naughty bits, in fact, might evoke thoughts of Roman orgies, or at least fond memories of a certain notorious Viking-laden pleasure cruise. But the wet noses pressed to stylishly denim-clad crotches in Java J’s in downtown Minneapolis on this sultry summer evening were anything but salacious—these were just the instinctive overtures of dogs being friendly in ways their owners could only dream of, particularly given the inhibiting presence of the Minneapolis police officer who made a cameo appearance during the opening moments of the latest K9-Connection event.

For ages, people have wandered through parks with their pets, looking for encounters with dog-lovers who would overflow with girlish, or boyish, glee upon sighting a cute dog. In such instances, of course, the dog often serves as little more than a pawn in the dating game, and would be consigned to the floor at the foot of the bed if its owner were ever to actually arrange a doggy-style hook-up with that friendly stranger from the park. Replace the park with a small coffee shop full of dog owners in their thirties and forties and the challenge is right up there with shooting dachshunds in a barrel.

Even before the opening bell rang to signal the start of their first “date,” single dog-owners, emboldened by a glass or two of pinot, congregated and made conversation. Sizing up the dating pool, and the competition, was the order of the hour as unsubtle glances appraised style, grooming habits, and dog choice, and friendly, if stilted, conversation and laughter filled the shop, broken up by frequent canine piss breaks outside.

The event drew an unpredictably mixed group, including representatives from the arts, academia, nonprofits, and service industries. In one corner booth, a yoga instructor lounged with her eerily calm mixed-breed and chatted with an up-and-coming young executive and his German Shepherd, which was accessorized with a bandolier collar. A sleekly attractive aspiring doggy day-care owner was seated on a bar stool, twirling languidly while giving a polite, slightly strained, smile to an earnest but painfully out-of-his-league owner of a Golden Retriever which, clearly bored with the proceedings at the stool, was huffing the butt of the next dog over.

Then there was Angie Gwiazdon, an irrepressibly friendly blonde seemingly hell-bent on ensuring that a good time would be had by all. A licensed marriage and family therapist, as well as the founder of K9-Connection, she holds a dog-oriented event about once a month—from speed dating to, say, a “Howling Harvest Festival” to celebrate the arrival of fall with fellow dog owners. The events have been wildly popular, and have all drawn near-sellout crowds.

The speed dating operated as expected. Men moved from table to table, spending approximately ten minutes in awkward getting-to-know-you conversation with a fellow dog owner. The dogs provided fodder for conversation and an icebreaker for the daters. Of course, even the added spice of shaking hands with a potential mate while a massive Newfoundland, hovering like a hairy protective father, gave you the evil eye, didn’t prevent conversations from running together after the fourth or fifth speed date.

“Hi, what’s your name?” There were consistently odd moments when both parties realized for the fifth time that this is a stupid question when everyone is wearing a name tag.

“What’s [his/her] name?” This statement was often followed by the realization that the dog was not actually the gender specified, making one party feel idiotic and oddly apologetic.

“Your dog is really cute!” An all too common phrase. Of course, honesty is at a premium on first dates, so some of these comments were merely an example of hormonally induced blindness.

At the end of the evening, attendees filled out forms, checking “yes” or “no” in boxes next to numbers corresponding to each date. If positive responses matched up, the participants would receive contact information, allowing them to set up a dog-optional get-together. A “no” meant that neither party would have to endure even another minute of forced conversation. Yet dogs and owners alike lingered well past the allotted time, chatting and, unhindered by the pressures of the ticking clock and the bell, attempting to turn one more witty phrase.

The dogs, however, seemed singularly unimpressed as the night wore on. Having recognized that their owners were too engaged in their own form of tail-chasing to provide much attention, they were sprawled across the floor throughout the coffee shop, lazily thumping tails when the situation seemed to call for it, but for the most part just waiting to go home to the reliable pleasures and routines of Science Diet, tug toys, and the full attention of their devoted and indulgent owners.