My boxer, Drools, has a bad habit of crisscrossing in front of me when we’re walking. I’m trying to shorten his leash when I see a guy with a Doberman headed our way.  This could be trouble.

It is.  The Doberman spots Drools and yanks his master.  Drools yanks me, and next thing I know, we’re all tangled in leashes and snarling dogs.  I’m embarrassed and angry. 

I hear Doberman-man chuckle. I look up into a smiling face with hazel eyes.

“Hi,” he says.  “I’m --”

Drools yanks again.

"...Tom.  This must be fate."

He leans down. 

He kisses me.

Wow!