For my spicy watermelon margaritas. For the stories I only dare tell to the kind of friend who slammed tequila shots with me on the balcony of the Four Seasons in 2017.

But no. I know why they come. I know perfectly well why my phone is pinging every Friday by five.

“Hope it’s ok if I bring Jemima? Bill’s working late; Walker’s away.”

“Bringing Biscuit, that ok? He’s been so sad.”

“Can Milo come? He misses his friends.”

If it’s ok? You want to bring them, babe. Let’s not play.

You want to drink my cheap rosé on my Georgia pine porch while your gelded cockapoo sniffs the butts of five Labradoodles. Three hours pass. And then, inevitably: harnesses. Clicker training. Asheville boarders. God.

Was it the shot prices in Midtown? The pandemic? Or just the dawning realization that, actually, I’d rather have a shepherd asleep on my feet while I laugh with friends than get shoved into a sweaty bar listening to “Cuff It”?

The porch won.

The thing about yappy hour is that it starts long before anybody rings the doorbell.

“Walk them first” is dog expert Garrett Botsch’s mantra.

“A tired dog is usually more relaxed and receptive to other dogs,” says Garrett. “If you just take your very high-energy dog and put her in a house with a bunch of other dogs and expect her to relax, it’s just not fair on anybody.” His advice: a good walk or play session before the meetup, especially if your dog’s energy is, let’s say, relentless.

If only I’d paid attention to that piece of wisdom every time.

Instead, this is my pattern:

Thirty minutes before guests are due: run Duke, my overly confident bichon, around the park while shrieking, “TO THE TREE!” as he snatches the orange tennis ball and shakes it viciously.

In the kitchen, I open Prosecco, measure out the puppy food, pour it into his bowl, and run up the spiral stairs, screaming, “No, we are not doing a trial separation!” at my husband. Run back down and see Duke looking up at me with his ball. You’re going out now?

I give him a second dinner (don’t tell my vet) and then a biscuit.

Why, then, is it always Duke who ends up eating half the party spread and throwing up in my Gucci sneaker?

By the time Duke has had his second dinner and I’ve opened the second bottle of Prosecco, my phone starts lighting up with the usual questions.

The Guest List

“Sorry, is lively brown dog an issue for highly strung white dog?”

“Sorry, just checking; this party is pro-dogs, right?”

“Sorry, can I bring Jasper?”

“Sorry, can I please have your entire dog guest list?”

Golden rule: NEVER go 1:1. You need, at most, six dogs for ten people. Otherwise? It’s not a party; it’s an illegal daycare.

A simple message does the work: “Hi everyone, we’re hosting a yappy hour on the porch! Bring your favorite drink and your pup (if they play nicely). Let me know if your dog’s coming so I can make their human name necklace :-).” The non-dog crowd gets plenty of warning.

You want dog energy that’s strong but not unhinged.

Ideally: a Labradoodle, a cockapoo, a Goldendoodle, a rescue that needs fifteen minutes to warm up, a golden retriever, two white dogs nobody will see all evening, and a Bichon in a stroller.

The important thing is not to force friendships. Dog dynamics are much more like human ones than people think.

“Building rapport takes time, and it’s the same with dogs,” says Garrett. “Let them set the tone.”

Once the guest list is sorted, there’s only one thing left to do: prepare for Naplantis.

Yappy Hour Setup: Welcome to Naplantis

Every good yappy hour is working toward the same goal.

Naplantis.

Around 7:30 p.m., if you’ve done everything right, it happens.

The curtain comes down on the drama that is yappy hour, and you glance over and realize there is a solid landmass of snoozing canines.

Head on paw.

Two upside down, noses touching.

One golden retriever in the parlor palm planter.

Naplantis.

We’ve spent years refining Naplantis.

Outdoor mats are key. Not the nice ones from Anthropologie. The indestructible ones. A couple overlapped like flying carpets.

Or, if you’re feeling bougie, snuffle mats.

Chic.

Genius for anxious dogs.

Ditto water bowls.

At least three, dotted around.

The dog that pees in one water bowl will pee in three adjacent water bowls.

Stagger your water bowls and give each one a nice pebble circle to prevent any floor messes.

At least, that’s the philosophy in our family.

The Church of Naplantis.

Some shade.

A beanbag.

Maybe an umbrella or party tent.

So the frazzled cockapoo can stagger off to cool down and meditate.

Zen is sacred.

Bring out the fans.

And have baby gates handy to ring-fence off a dog hermit kingdom at a moment’s notice.

By now, people are starting to arrive.

Leashes are tangled around chair legs.

Somebody is introducing two dogs who have already met six times.

Somebody else is opening a bottle of rosé.

Food and Drink (For Humans)

Nobody expects a feast.

Charcuterie is usually a good bet. Pimento cheese, pepper jelly, sharp cheddar, pickled okra, Ritz crackers, and candied pecans. Wooden board. Done.

If you’re feeling snazzy: pasta, sushi, macarons, olives in a bowl.

This isn’t dinner. This is yappy hour. Food to be grazed.

Dog Snacks: Ultimate Dog Party Ideas

Far more important is the snackage for the dogs. If you’re looking for the ultimate dog party ideas, there are three yappy hour treats you ought to master.

For more inspiration, check out our full collection of Southern Recipes for Pups.

Yappy hour treat #1: Pup Cups

Wouldn’t you rather receive a homemade pup cup than a weird glass of “skinny Prosecco?” Mix plain yogurt and banana, as God intended, maybe with a squirt of peanut butter, crushed-up oaty treats, and a couple of blueberries to top it off.

Yappy hour treat #2: Dog Barkuterie

Nothing gets the party started like dog barkuterie.

“Barkuterie” = charcuterie for dogs. Wooden tray, strips of cooked chicken, carrot sticks, beef jerky, cheddar cubes, blueberries, sweet potato chews, dog biscuits, maybe a sausage cut into stars. Barkuterie board done.

Yappy hour treat #3: frozen mini-treats

The biggest hit. Homemade frozen mini treats. A silicone ice-cube tray, a bit of Greek yogurt, a swirl of dog-friendly peanut butter, and a blob of mashed banana. Maybe some berries. Freeze. Done.

Just check everything you serve is dog-safe. We are full-on police about food rules here. Grapes, onions, chocolate, blue cheese: NO.

Setting the Vibe

The sun’s dropping.

Everybody’s settled in.

This is the sweet spot.

Mood lights. Kane Brown on the playlist. Velvet cushions on the swing seat. Citronella candles. Dog bow tie to match the tulips (please don’t try to put a bow tie on a mastiff).

When you get it just right, it looks like nothing.

Just a porch, some friends, and a few dogs; the kind of evening that doesn’t need a reason to exist.

That’s the whole point.

Garrett, who says things like “resource-guarding behaviors” because he actually knows what he’s talking about, has one note: “Don’t rely on treats or toys for entertainment. Unless you are confident that the dogs in attendance aren’t prone to resource-guarding behaviors, it’s best to utilize these things sparingly!”

When It Goes Sideways…

Of course, not everything goes smoothly.

It can be total carnage.

Someone’s marking the beanbags.

Someone’s eating the geraniums.

“DUKE! DUKE!!”

That’s me, leaping from my deck chair as my bichon lunges for the barkuterie board.

“Duke, leave! Duke!”

Naturally the lab and the cockapoo are suddenly going at it like WWE on the tarpaulin, and there’s cheddar in someone’s jowl.

And what, I’m meant to do something?

The truth is: don’t panic. My instinct is always to panic. Garrett’s is considerably more useful.

“Let the dogs sort out their differences,” he says, but keep your eyes peeled for snarly lips or stiffened postures. That’s your cue.

“Dogs look to their owners for guidance and reassurance,” Garrett says. “If you are anxious and running around frantically, your dog may feel the need to do the same.”

Channel cool-girl yappy hour host. Not panicking-woman-in-club.

But somehow, despite all the barking, chasing, peeing in inappropriate places, and attempted barkuterie theft, the evening always ends the same way.

The Labrador who spent two hours policing the perimeter finally gives up. The cockapoo stops monitoring everybody else’s business. One dog claims the outdoor mat. Another wedges himself into the planter.

And then, around 7:30 p.m., there it is.

Naplantis.

The Aftermath

I gather up four dog bowls, a paper plate, and a glass and make my way across the deck, trailing lime and peanut butter.

In the kitchen, I find my bichon asleep in the colander, cheeks covered in poppy seeds and other people’s coleslaw.

I stare at him, exhausted, as he snores, one bandanaed paw jerking every so often in some kind of Bichon dream.

Unbelievable.

But God, I’m happy he’s mine.

Grew up in Maryland, grew up with dogs, and somehow both things have followed me everywhere. Now I live with Duke, a Bichon who has never once done anything he didn’t feel like doing. I don’t write about “dogs.” I write about what it actually is to build your life around a dog. Messy. Hilarious. Gut-wrenching. Joyful. All of it.