Before I could even introduce myself, HayHay had licked nearly every inch of my face.
I had just arrived at a D.C. animal shelter to take a dog out for a day -- something I was excited to try after reporting on dog lending programs last month. But I didn't know what to expect.
As someone with pet allergies, I've never owned a dog. I was hoping to give one a fun day outside of the shelter.
To my surprise, I think I got more out of the outing than HayHay did.
To HayHay, I was just a stranger taking him out of his home to an unfamiliar place. HayHay, whom police found last month on Hayes Street NE (inspiring his name), responded by licking me and putting his trust into me. It was the opposite of how I would react.
As a journalist, we're taught to verify everything. There's an old saying in journalism that goes, "If your mother says she loves you, check it out."
This is easy for me to embrace. I'm not trusting. Outside of work, I prefer spending time with my family. I purchase food and clothes online, and I find excuses to avoid social gatherings -- because I think most people I interact with will have selfish intentions.
But my roughly five hours with HayHay in mid-October showed me something I wasn't expecting: Trust is a precursor to building close relationships and feeling joy.
I don't know the full backstory of HayHay, 2, but given that he was found running loose without a microchip, I have a feeling he has plenty of reasons to never trust again. Yet when the staff at Brandywine Valley SPCA in Northeast Washington assigned him to me for the day, he treated me like we were old pals.
If he had not, we might have not connected during our outing -- giving us both a surge of the love hormone oxytocin -- and had as much fun as we did.
My mom (who does love me, I verified) came along to satisfy her itch to own a dog. She drove the three of us to Kingman and Heritage islands for a hike. Every time we passed someone, HayHay tried to put his forepaws on them.
That forced me to talk to strangers -- something I would not normally do -- and showed me that some people are not that bad. Most were happy to greet HayHay, who wore a red vest that said "ADOPT ME" over his black and white coat. His outgoing nature even led me to meet a group of people who inspired me. They were removing invasive plants in honor of their conservationist friend who had recently died.
About two hours into our walk, we took a path to the Anacostia River. HayHay, who weighs 51 pounds, almost dragged me in before he jumped and placed his forepaws on me, smearing mud on my blue jacket and khaki pants.
At first, I was concerned he was trying to bite me. Then I realized I had asked HayHay to trust me so far, and now it was my turn to trust that he just wanted to play. He jumped on me a few more times before biting his black leash for a game of tug-of-war.
We then walked to a field, where I sat against a chain-link fence and hoped HayHay would be tired. After a few minutes of playing with a tennis ball, HayHay placed his head on my right thigh and closed his eyes. We thought he was asleep until my mom, Gay Melnick, stood to walk to a nearby portable restroom.
HayHay appeared concerned, standing and staring in my mom's direction until she returned. We were amazed and honored that HayHay, after only about three hours together, was so attuned to my mom that he was worried about her walking a few feet from him.
When we drove HayHay back to the shelter later that afternoon, we were sad to say goodbye. But I was exhausted -- more from socializing than walking HayHay a few miles.
At the shelter, HayHay placed his forepaws on the front counter before a staff member walked him to his cage, where he ate dinner and napped. He appeared unfazed by another change.
My mom and I then drove to the Union Market district. Over our barbecue dinner, she told me about a friendship she was reevaluating.
I responded with my typical pessimism: People are selfish and shouldn't be trusted. But then I thought about the trust HayHay had gifted us that day and how it resulted in a fun afternoon for all three of us.
So I gave my mom a rare piece of advice that we agreed on: If HayHay could give people a chance, we could, too.