I moved to Richmond, twice. The first time was for six months. On the third day, before my apartment furniture had even arrived, I was en route to the airport to pick up much more valuable cargo—a dog.
We hadn’t met at this point. It was a blind date that would last a lifetime. I was three hours late thanks to misinformation on the arrival ticker. I distinctly remember the surprisingly pleasant Delta airline attendant who told me she had made a makeshift leash for my dog that sat with her behind the lost and found counter. “He must be so excited to see you,” she said. A lump formed in my throat as I considered the responsibility I was about to take on. I’m bad with kids—this is like a furry kid. But before I could respond to her assuming comment, out from the side of the counter slowly peered this straggly, ball of white poof with dark eyes and a button nose. He wasn’t excited. He didn’t give in to my high-end organic treats lure that even I found appealing.
On the ride home I stopped for a sandwich. It was the fall, and even though I was a new dog mom, I knew the dangers of leaving a pet in the car. But the temperature was a perfect balance so I left my blind date on the passenger’s seat. I was back in a jiffy, sitting in a seat of urine. I cried. What was I thinking.
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Before my second move to Richmond, I served as a proud Blue Star spouse to a U.S. Army captain. I was acutely aware of the realities of war that so often go unnoticed. It was a silent service that I embraced but the absence of a loved one, the unknowns and the what-ifs that I had experienced on tour one and now vividly anticipated for tour two, were ever present. The busyness of the day—working in the United States Senate—kept mind over matter, except in the evening without fail it always hit home. The bed sheets: cold; the smell was always of generic fabric softener, not the familiar and comforting scent of home. Though this second time around it was different. There was a straggly white poof ball that without a doubt sensed the anxiety and would nuzzle on loyal standby. He is the reason I got through the silent service unscathed.
I don’t believe in love at first site, however I do fall in love and I fell hard. The blind date has a spot in the bed, on the couch, a frequent flyer membership to doggie day care, and all the love that I could possibly pump into such a little body that brings joy which no human ever can.
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RVA Muttropolis isn’t a blog about dogs. It’s the seed and platform for an advocacy alliance of local organizations, businesses, and individuals that are committed to making Richmond one of the most dog-friendly cities in the United States. This is a grassroots initiative to marry two things that I have found Richmonders love: pups and economic development.
The mission: To promote the economic and quality of life benefits of a dog-friendly urban community to garner public and private support in adopting dog-welcoming work, life, and city-styles.
So what makes Richmond an ideal place to aspire to be the most dog-friendly city in the United States? The concept actually has legs. Take for example a Spring 2011 op-ed: Hinkle: Welcome to Richmond, dog capital of the world, by renowned Richmond Times-Dispatch opinion contributor, Bart Hinkle, who suggests Richmond aim even higher for dog capital of the world:
“Granted, New York City has the annual Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show at Madison Square Garden. And New York can keep it. Richmond should embrace a muttier ethos – the kind that thinks dogs belong not on a display shelf, but on the couch. And on the bed. And the front seat. Or even in shops, offices buildings, and restaurants, as you can find them in some parts of Europe.”
Stay tuned.
RVA muttropolis 