I gave my card to Debby

Not little Debby, the face of bad pastry. Debby, the Croatian immigre to Montreal, the barista who saw me standing outside her little coffee shop and brought a treat out for our dog and an offer to bring him inside. “We’re pet friendly,” she said. Truer words.

Debby loves dogs and took our passage as opportunity to lavish a little love (OK, a LOT of love) on Satchel.

“I love animals,” she says, squatting next to Satch and stroking his head. “More than people.”

We had stopped outside Structure with ulterior motives. Buy a little something, so we could feel comfortable asking to use the restroom.

Next thing you know, we’re inside, ordering lattes and a chocolate cookie and chatting with Debby. About her family, once scattered across Canada, now reassembled in Montreal. About Croatian food (lots of cruciers, stews, seasoning like that of Turkey). About her and her boyfriend’s plan to adopt a rescue pup next year, when they move in together.

She spoke of her love for the U.S., but also of her happiness being in Canada, where she came at 11 as a refugee of the Balkan civil conflicts.

As we approached departure, I thought how I would love to welcome her (them) to our home, should they ever pass that way. So I gave her my last business card. I do this. No one has yet taken me up on the offer. But I try, the least I can do to complete the knot of introduction brokered by my dog.