One of my friends recently decided to get a puppy. And let me be the first to say, unbiased of course, he is the most precious little thing. The first night I met Theo, or Feo as I like to call him for some reason I’m unsure of, we took him on a short walk to a local fried chicken place. There is a patio there so we knew he’d be welcomed. Not only was the little guy welcomed, he was celebrated by practically everyone we encountered.

Groups of women shrieked as Theo strutted by them, his golden fur flopping around him, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, like he had no worry in the world. “Can we pet your dog!?” they begged as they were already bending down to greet him.

Even a couple of dudes that passed by awed and smiled at Theo’s infectious energy.

When we made it to our fried chicken restaurant destination, we set up camp at one of the patio tables, making sure his leash was attached to a chair and that he had plenty of water and a little bone to keep him entertained.

And the paparazzi didn’t let up while we ate and sipped our beers. People frequently stopped by our table to greet Theo and ask the standard questions: how big will he get? What kind of dog is he? What’s this little guy’s name? It was like we were eating dinner with a little celebrity that kept tangling himself around our feet.

But I mean, can you blame anyone, look at that face:

The night ended with Theo pulling ahead of us on his little leash, “C’mon slow-pokes!” he insinuated. His short legs moved at a quick pace, but he had to frequently stop and smell something every five feet or so.

When we finally got back to my friend’s apartment, he sprawled onto the floor and fell asleep in minutes, his cuddly body dreaming no doubt of chasing birds or squirrels and attracting every eye on the street.