Coffee Is Better With a Dog: The Coffee Shop Ritual We Share With Them

There are plenty of perfectly reasonable reasons to go for coffee.

You need caffeine.

You want to meet a friend.

You have some work to do.

You’d like twenty quiet minutes with a book.

Or perhaps you’ve simply reached that point in the morning when remaining at home no longer seems productive.

Then you get a dog.

And somehow going for coffee becomes something else entirely.

It’s a walk.

An outing.

A social event.

A familiar route through the neighbourhood.

A chance to sit somewhere for half an hour while your dog watches absolutely everything happening around you.

You begin choosing patios differently.

You notice which coffee shops leave water outside.

You learn which baristas remember your dog.

And eventually you realize something slightly embarrassing.

They may not know your name.

But they definitely know his.

So this isn’t really about coffee.

It’s about one of those small rituals that becomes considerably better when you share it with a dog.

He Knows Where We’re Going

You haven’t said anything.

You haven’t reached for your wallet.

You haven’t even crossed the street yet.

But he knows.

This is the route to the coffee shop.

The pace increases.

The ears go up.

And the final half-block is approached with considerably more enthusiasm than anything else on the morning walk.

You may believe this little ritual is about your coffee.

He has a different understanding of the arrangement.

They Know His Name

You walk through the door.

“Morning, Charlie!”

Charlie is delighted.

You smile.

Nobody says your name.

This has been happening for approximately two years.

At some point you simply accepted your position in the relationship.

You are Charlie’s transportation.

Possibly his financial representative.

The important customer has arrived.

Coffee in One Hand, Dog in the Other

There are chairs available.

Several of them.

Your dog has reviewed these options and rejected all of them.

He would prefer your lap.

So now you’re balancing a coffee in one hand while approximately fifteen pounds of dog settles into the position he apparently believes was reserved for him.

It’s not particularly convenient.

You wouldn’t change it.

The Window Seat

Some people choose the window seat for the light.

Your dog chooses it because the entire neighbourhood is happening out there.

People walk past.

Bicycles appear.

Other dogs require careful observation.

A delivery truck arrives and is treated as breaking news.

Meanwhile, you drink your coffee and read something.

Neither of you is doing anything particularly important.

That’s rather the point.

The Saturday Morning Coffee Club

It began with two people meeting for coffee.

Both brought their dogs.

Then somebody else joined them.

Then another.

Now there are four coffees on the table, several dogs underneath it and enough leashes wrapped around chair legs to make leaving considerably more complicated than arriving.

Nobody formally organized a dog club.

Apparently one formed anyway.

The Patio Changes Everything

For several months of the year, the neighbourhood coffee shop gets another room.

It just happens to be outside.

Tables move onto the sidewalk.

Bikes lean against railings.

Dogs settle underneath chairs.

People who intended to grab a coffee and continue walking somehow remain for forty-five minutes.

A good patio does that.

Add a dog, some sunshine and nowhere particularly urgent to be, and leaving starts to seem unnecessary.

Everybody Knows Which Barista Has the Treats

Your dog likes all the employees.

Obviously.

But let’s not pretend the relationship is equal.

There is one particular barista who occasionally reaches underneath the counter.

Your dog knows this.

Your dog remembers this.

Your dog may actually have been thinking about this since yesterday.

You are ordering a latte.

He is conducting a completely separate transaction.

Apparently We’re Getting Latte Art

You ordered coffee.

Somebody handed you a tiny dog made from foam.

And now you’re taking a photograph of it.

Of course you are.

Five minutes ago you were a normal adult buying a beverage.

Now you’re adjusting the cup slightly because the light is better from the other side.

Your dog is watching all of this.

Judging you.

Probably correctly.

I’ll Wait Here

Sometimes the dog can’t come inside.

So he waits.

Perhaps one person stays with him while the other orders.

Perhaps there’s a bench near the entrance.

Perhaps he simply assumes the position beside the door and watches every person who emerges with intense optimism.

There is something wonderfully familiar about a dog waiting outside a neighbourhood coffee shop.

Particularly when his expression suggests you have been gone for several years.

It has been four minutes.

The Laptop Came Too

Laptop open.

Coffee beside it.

Phone charging.

Dog asleep underneath the table.

This was supposed to be an hour of productive work.

And perhaps it will be.

But every so often a hand disappears below the table.

A head gets scratched.

The dog shifts position.

Then everybody returns to whatever they were doing.

Working from a coffee shop is considerably easier when somebody is there to remind you that none of it is quite as important as you think.

The Rainy Morning

Not every coffee-shop morning needs sunshine and a patio.

Sometimes the windows are covered in rain.

Your coat is damp.

The dog smells slightly more like dog than usual.

You find a table by the glass.

Coffee arrives.

The dog curls up underneath you.

Outside, everybody seems to be rushing somewhere.

Inside, you’re warm.

There are worse places to wait out the weather.

Some Coffee Shops Make Dogs Part of the Place

You can usually tell.

There’s artwork on the wall.

A photograph behind the counter.

Perhaps a mural outside.

Maybe there’s a jar of treats somewhere that every dog in the neighbourhood appears to know about.

Nobody needed to put up a giant sign announcing that dogs matter here.

The place simply evolved that way.

Because when enough people bring their dogs somewhere often enough, the dogs eventually become part of the identity of the place itself.

He’s Been Coming Here Longer Than Some Employees

Same coffee shop.

Same general time.

Same favourite spot.

For years.

The dog is older now.

The walk here takes a little longer.

Maybe he doesn’t immediately jump up when somebody he knows walks through the door anymore.

But he still knows the route.

He still recognizes the place.

And somebody behind the counter still smiles when he arrives.

There are grand adventures we remember with our dogs.

Road trips.

Vacations.

Long hikes.

Days at the lake.

But a life together isn’t really made from grand adventures.

It’s mostly made from thousands of ordinary mornings.

And sometimes those ordinary mornings include coffee.

Maybe That’s Why Coffee Is Better With a Dog

The coffee itself hasn’t changed.

It’s still espresso, water, milk and whatever increasingly complicated combination of those things you’ve decided is necessary.

What changes is everything around it.

You walked there instead of driving.

You sat outside because the dog was with you.

You talked to somebody at the next table because their dog came over to say hello.

You stayed ten minutes longer.

You watched the neighbourhood go by.

You did absolutely nothing productive for a while.

And perhaps that’s the real reason dogs fit so naturally into coffee-shop culture.

They are remarkably good at turning something ordinary into time spent together.

Coffee just gives us somewhere to sit.

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