"Hi, Allie, it's Ozzy. I was wondering if you'd like to take me and Bruce for a walk one day?" Allie started laughing and said, "Sure, Ozzy." She made plans with my dog to take me to Central Park the following Saturday. I had no idea what she looked like. She told me, "Hey I don't usually do this but it's hard to meet nice guys in New York, and you seemed like a nice guy with your dog so I figured what the hell."
Wow. This was the first time a woman didn't use me to get to my puppy. She used the puppy to get to me. I was flattered. I-was-a-nervous-wreck. As far back as I could remember, I had never been much of a ladies' man. I could have sure used a puppy back in the awkward pimply, McDonald's-arched hair-doo days of adolescence. I was so unattractive that the first girl I ever made out with had to make out with me. Her friends dared her to in a game of Truth or Dare. Now, thanks to Ozzy, my furry aphrodisiac, I wasn't just a guy anymore. I was a guy with a cute puppy. I was sensitive by association. I was a candidate for fatherhood. If I could pick up puppy poop, I could change smelly diapers. I was a provider. I was somebody they could trust. I was a guy that wasn't scared to commit. And women smelled that a mile away.