You’ve gotta see it to believe it. Truly. DJ, my spunky Welsh terrier with dewy brown eyes, a pearly white smile and a jaunty gait has a way with women—smooth, direct and irresistibly sweet. There’s a certain je ne sais quoi about him that melts even the iciest hearts. And the best part? He doesn’t have to say a word. Not one. He just gives The Look, and suddenly he’s being showered with affection—cuddles, belly scratches, and even sleepover invitations.

I’ll admit, I’m complicit in this routine. I stand there, his loyal wingman, casually dropping lines like, “He only does that with you. He usually growls.” Total lie. He pulls this move on every woman, without fail. But why make them feel like just another notch on his collar? The truth is, DJ genuinely loves the one he’s with—each and every one.

It’s like he has his own harmonic theme song, something harkening back to the Summer of Love.

And there’s a mom sweet as a dove,

And she’s kissing you from above,

If you can’t be with the dog you love,

Then love the mom you’re with.

Love the mom you’re with.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s almost cartoonish, like Betty and Veronica fawning over Archie—because who doesn’t love an awkward redhead with freckles? Back then, my friends and I would debate:

“Why Archie?”

“Freckles. Girls love freckles.”

“And dimples. Definitely dimples.”

Years later, DJ finally solved the mystery for me: women love adorable. Case closed. Let’s be honest—you don’t see women going gaga over a Rottweiler. Irresistible teddy-bear looks win every time. And nothing’s more charming than a scruffy little terrier.

Every day DJ works his magic on the ladies. It usually happens when I take him for a walk—or rather, when I follow him, leash in hand, as he wanders to whatever strikes his fancy. Maybe it’s a hint of gamey pheromones lingering from a pile of makes-me-gag, or a dash of spicy hormones freshly sprayed on the fire hydrant, or the fragrance of Chanel No. 5 dancing through the air like an olfactory ballet—because as every French poodle knows—No dog alive can resist Chanel No. 5.

Inevitably, we’ll pass a woman who smiles at us (fine, smiles at him) or stops him outright to pet him (never me). Then the magic unfolds: they coo, scratch his ears, and some even kiss him. And DJ? He loves every second of it. Never says no. Never met a woman—any woman—that he didn’t adore.

If I were a single guy, this would be perfect. DJ’s a walking babe magnet—no awkward small talk required. He gets you 95% of the way there. All you’d need to do is string together three coherent sentences, wipe the drool off your chin and, you’ve got a date. Yeah.

Sometimes, I can’t resist working in my own routine.

“Oh, you’re so cute!” they gush over DJ.

“Thanks, you’re making me blush,” I reply, always scoring a laugh. But I usually leave it at that. I’m not single, after all.

Still, I can’t help but think about the fun I’d have if I were. Who needs dating apps or Tinder when you’ve got a DJ? In fact, I’m convinced DJ would coach me through it if I tried. He’d sit there with his head tilted, saying, “No, no—give them the cutie patootie look.”

“But my look is action hero. Note the shaved head.”

“More like bald. Throw on a ratty old cardigan and try the old man look. A hit with widows."

“Why am I even listening to you, a mutt with Brillo pad hair,” I say just as a yummy mummy approaches making a beeline for DJ. “You’re so cute,” she says. “Can I hug him?”

“Of course,” I say as DJ shoots me a wink.

She hugs him as he licks her flawless porcelain skin.

“I love him, love him, love him! Come home with me," she whispers in a husky voice.

And I’m thinking of something like, “Sure, but what do I do with the dog?" Thankfully, I bite my tongue. There’s nothing to be said.

Once again, it’s love at first sight as the wingman watches on.