Hi,” I chirped, with my best smile, “So sorry to bother your walk, but can I ask you something?”

The beleaguered stranger would look alarmed. “What could this middle-aged woman want from me,” he must have thought. “She looks like she has plenty to eat!”

Reassuring the person I had stopped on Pierce Street that I was not begging, (though actually I was), I continued. “I notice you have a dog. So where you live must be pet-friendly. Would you mind telling me where that is?”

I would explain that my husband and I were rental hunting, as our move from the East Coast would take place shortly, and we wanted to find a starter home that would welcome our two dogs. We couldn’t seem to find one. If we liked the place, they hated dogs, and if they took pets, the places looked like only dogs had ever lived there.

Inevitably, the “stopee” – now that he knew his life and loose change were not in danger – took time to explain he owned his building, or where he lived was full. I found no doggie-friendly rental help this way, but I did meet some lovely San Franciscans.

When Peter and I decided to move here, we didn’t consult our two dachshunds, Sally and Cyrano. We figured they would be happy just to be with us, and we trusted that somewhere in San Francisco we would find the right place. Thankfully we did. On the final day of our exploratory trip, we walked into the last apartment on our agent’s list and fell in love. Not only did the sunlight flooding through the many windows warm us, and the enormous walk-in closets make us sigh with relief, we appreciated that it was pet friendly to the max. We were assured that all residents had at least one dog, and that pets were as much a part of the community as the tenants themselves. Good care was taken that both behaved well.

This has all proven true. The building even has its own dog run, where not only can all the dogs “go” in private, but when you take them there you see the glorious Golden Gate Bridge! Taking the dogs out for a pee has never been so inspiring.

This morning the bridge was draped in the soft shawl of fog that gives it one of its many mysterious looks. At odd moments it appeared gently erased – as if it had disappeared from its familiar spot on the horizon and drifted off somewhere else it simply had to go, like a hair appointment or couture fitting. But then moments later, the fog would stealthily sift away and there were the tops of the bridge’s stanchions, sharply peaking skyward. It had gone nowhere. It was playing coy behind its shawl and wanted to make us smile. I see this feminine, flirtatious display every time I walk the dogs.

It is a bit of a confrontation when the professional walker takes 12 enormous dogs at a time on our antique elevator, but aside from a few loud barks, everyone gets through it unscathed. I think Sally may have fallen in love with a large Norwegian deerhound from upstairs named Hagen. Or is that fear of being eaten I see in her eyes? Oh well. A doggie community has to be a tolerant one all the way around.

As Dorothy says in The Wizard of Oz, “Oh Toto, there’s no place like home!” I think I hear our two pups click their back paws together, in agreement.

Evalyn Baron is a recent transplant to San Francisco who enjoys exploring the City with her dachshunds, Sally and Cyrano. E-mail: [email protected]