By John Gavin

I HATE MY WIFE’S DOG.

I’m a guy — you could even say a guy’s guy. I’m not exactly clear on the origin of that term, but I’m pretty sure it means that I’m a little rough around the edges and in no way implies that I am a guy who belongs to another guy — not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that, wait, where was I?

Oh yeah, I hate my wife’s dog.

It’s this super ugly little Chihuahua with huge googly bug eyes and crooked snaggly teeth, some of which fly out when it sneezes.

Is it just me, or does it seem that women who don’t have children living at home invariably have a dog that might as well be a child — or worse yet, a life partner?

Back when I was on the dating sites I can’t tell you how many profiles I read that said “must love dogs.” My thought was always: Why must I love your dog? I don’t even know your dog. What if it’s one of those Newfoundlands that drool a puddle? Or one of those little terriers that are physically unable to stop yipping? If it is one of those breeds, chances are really good I’m not going to love your dog. In fact there’s a solid chance I’m not even going to like it.

I dated a woman for a while who had a pit bull that must have weighed 100 pounds — and that wasn’t even the scary part. The truly troubling news was that it slept on her bed. Always — no exceptions. Needless to say, that budding romance didn’t get much beyond the budding stage.

There was another woman who, when I knocked on her door to pick her up, answered amid what I’d have to call a small herd. I counted at least two German shepherds as well as three other dogs.

And did I mention she lived in a one-bedroom apartment?

And then there was the lady whose dog ate my left shoe. Not the right one, just the left one.

I’d taken them off as we sat down on the couch together and this little fluffy dog, who was clearly accustomed to scads of attention, was all of a sudden not receiving enough. I think at that point it felt I was the reason for this abomination, so it decided to put me in my place by eating most of a Converse low-top.

OK, I’m on a bit of a rant here, so allow me to tell you what brings all this to mind. A few weeks ago, after my last book reading and signing, a very nice woman came up to me to tell a story about a date gone wrong, in the hopes of getting my take on it. She’d met a seemingly great guy whom she appeared to have much in common with. The date went great until they ended up back at her place where, from what I could gather, he was less than impressed with her rambunctious pooches.

She never heard from him again.

And I could tell she was confused as to why. To hear her tell the story, it was evident that she loved her dogs — and they loved her. But here’s what might have happened: When Mr. Man got to this nice lady’s house, he was probably expecting to receive as much attention from her as he was devoting to her. But with two or three dogs in the mix, that’s just not going to happen, is it?

I guess it’s sort of like sitting down to talk with someone and they pull out an iPhone and start making calls. It’s not going to make for an evening that the left-out party wants to repeat any time soon.

If I might make a suggestion here: I’d like to tell you what my wife Loretta did with her horrible little Chihuahua when I’d come over to her house during the time we were dating. She’d put it in a kennel, in a different room.

And after that we’d have a quiet, romantic dinner followed by nice music and a glass of wine on the couch. And that’s where it stops (uh no, not the evening — just my retelling of it).

My point is this: Loretta always made it quite clear to me that I had her full attention. And by making a point of doing that she was also showing me, if we got that far, she would make room for me in her life, too. And that’s important to a guy.

Even a guy’s guy.

Boy, now I feel kind of bad about hating her dog. Well, hate’s a pretty strong word … maybe I just dislike her. Wait, that’s not right either — I mean she is kind of sweet and all. She likes to curl up beside me when I’m on the couch. And it is sort of cute when she does that. I mean cute for a dog, I guess. It wouldn’t be so cute for a cat because cats do that all the time.

You know, she actually is kind of a cool little dog and all. I wouldn’t be so into a cat curling up beside me.

Because I hate cats.

Benicia resident John P. Gavin is the author of “Online Dating Sucks… but it’s how I fell in love.” You can find it at onlinedatingsucksbook.com or at amazon.com/dp/B009ZYYDVE.