Dogs will befriend literally anything

If there’s one universal truth about dogs, it’s this: they have no idea what “stranger danger” means. In fact, they’ve turned befriending strangers—no matter the species, shape, or size—into an art form. Ask any dog owner, and they’ll tell you that their furry friend has an uncanny ability to treat life like a nonstop meet-and-greet event.

I first noticed this with my own Labrador, Max. One crisp morning, while walking him through the park, he spotted a lone squirrel sitting by the roots of an oak tree. To me, this looked like a chase waiting to happen. To Max, it looked like a coffee date. Instead of lunging, he plopped down a few feet away, tail wagging furiously, and gave the squirrel his best “Hey, buddy, want to hang out?” look. The squirrel twitched nervously, eventually deciding that perhaps this enormous, drooling creature was harmless. They sat there, a meter apart, like old friends who didn’t need words—only mutual curiosity.

That was just the beginning.

Dogs, in their infinite optimism, will befriend the most unexpected companions. Take the story of Bella, a golden retriever who lives down the street. Bella has a best friend. Not another dog, not a cat—no, Bella’s best friend is a duck. The two met when Bella’s owner took her to the nearby pond. This one particular duck, apparently bored of other ducks, waddled right up to Bella without hesitation. Bella responded in typical dog fashion—ears perked, tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive. From that day forward, Bella refused to leave the pond without saying goodbye to her feathered pal. If the duck wasn’t there, she’d mope all the way home, glancing back as if expecting him to come running after her.

And it’s not just animals. Dogs will happily extend their circle of friends to anything inanimate too. My neighbor’s bulldog, Bruno, has a close emotional bond with… a brick. Yes, a brick. One day, he found it lying in the garden, sniffed it thoroughly, and decided it was his soulmate. Now, every afternoon, he drags it around the yard, naps beside it, and growls protectively if anyone dares move it. No one can explain this love story, but Bruno clearly doesn’t see why he shouldn’t be allowed to love a brick.

Dogs also have a knack for befriending humans who aren’t exactly “dog people.” My aunt, for example, had never been comfortable around dogs. She didn’t dislike them, but she also didn’t seek them out. That all changed when she met Charlie, a floppy-eared beagle who lived next door. Charlie approached her one afternoon while she was gardening, plopped himself right on her flowers, and looked at her like she was the sun itself. Against her better judgment, she reached out to pet him. Charlie sighed—a long, contented sigh—and rested his head on her lap. From then on, she started saving scraps for him. Within weeks, they were inseparable. Charlie had converted her into a bona fide dog lover without even trying.

Sometimes, though, dogs take their friendliness to absurd extremes. I once read about a husky named Lilo who became best friends with a rescued baby possum. The possum had been found clinging to a fence after its mother was killed, and when Lilo saw it, she immediately adopted it as her own. The two would curl up together, the tiny possum clinging to Lilo’s fur like a living backpack. Lilo’s owners thought it was just a temporary phase, but weeks passed, and the possum refused to leave. They ended up letting them stay together until the possum was old enough to be released. Even then, Lilo would wait by the fence every evening, just in case her friend came back.

Another example is my cousin’s dog, Daisy. Daisy has no boundaries whatsoever. She once managed to befriend a police officer in the middle of giving my cousin a speeding ticket. As the officer was writing the citation, Daisy leaned out the car window and gave him her best goofy smile. Before long, the officer was kneeling beside the car, scratching Daisy’s ears and telling her what a good girl she was. My cousin still got the ticket, but he swears it was delivered with noticeably less sternness than usual.

Of course, there are also dogs who will try to make friends with things that really don’t reciprocate. Take my friend Lisa’s shepherd mix, Rocky. Rocky once decided he wanted to befriend the neighborhood’s resident garden gnome. Every time they passed the gnome, Rocky would wag his tail, tilt his head, and try to initiate play. When the gnome (shockingly) never responded, Rocky just barked once, licked it, and trotted off, satisfied that they were now best friends.

And then there’s the internet-famous Samoyed who befriended a snowman. For an entire winter, he visited it daily, licking its carrot nose and sitting beside it in the yard. The day the snowman melted was a tragedy; the dog searched the yard for hours, clearly distressed. His owners ended up building a new snowman just to cheer him up.

Why are dogs like this?

Experts say it’s partly because dogs are descendants of pack animals, wired for social connection. But I think it goes beyond instinct. Dogs have an unshakable belief that the world is full of potential friends, and that belief guides everything they do. They don’t care if you’re a human, a cat, a duck, a squirrel, a brick, or a snowman—if you exist, they think you’re worth knowing.

Maybe that’s why we love them so much. Dogs remind us of the joy that comes from seeing the world with an open heart. They don’t judge based on appearance, species, or usefulness. They just… love. They walk into every encounter with the assumption that this could be the beginning of a great friendship.

I once asked a veterinarian friend of mine if she’d ever met a dog who didn’t try to make friends with something unusual. She laughed. “Never,” she said. “I’ve seen a Chihuahua cuddle with a baby goat, a Great Dane adopt a kitten, and a pug share his bed with a stuffed avocado. They all act like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

And that’s the magic of dogs—they make it normal. They normalize kindness, connection, and affection in ways we humans sometimes forget. Watching a dog befriend a frog or a ferret or a literal patch of grass is a gentle reminder that maybe, just maybe, we overcomplicate relationships.

These days, when I take Max to the park, I no longer worry about what strange creature or object might catch his interest. I just watch, amused, as he wags his way into yet another unlikely friendship. Last week, it was a balloon someone had left tied to a bench. He sat there for fifteen minutes, staring at it, as though it was telling him its life story. When the wind caught it and carried it away, he watched it float off with a wistful expression, as if saying goodbye to an old friend.

Dogs will befriend literally anything—and maybe that’s their superpower. In a world that can feel divided, judgmental, and guarded, dogs show us a simpler path: approach with curiosity, greet with warmth, and never be afraid to wag first.