Fight! Fight!

This story comes from two sources: a witness and a participant. I didn't witness it first-hand.

I love hanging out at the dog park because it's usually such a laid-back place. The atmosphere ranges from tranquil to boisterous good fun, and so far, thank goodness, I haven't had a bad experience. I haven't even witnessed one. But they do happen.

I first heard this from Dee, who has the sweetest lab/Bernese cross named Shy (and she's anything but.) I had left Dee and a group of people, including Ronnie, a few days earlier, and on my way to the car heard a horrible ruckus explode. I was late to get the kids from school, and too far to turn back, but when I saw Dee again a few days later, I asked her what had happened.

She thought, frowning. "Oh, that must have been the fight Ronnie got into!"

It had sounded like a dog fight to me, and I couldn't imagine who had come along ten seconds after my departure to make such scene, but I said, "Ronnie got into a fight? Why?"

"Some guy was throwing a ball for his dog," she explained, "and Holly was chasing it too... he told Ronnie to control Holly... and Ronnie tried, but you know how obedient Holly is... so Ronnie suggested he put his ball away in the park... and then the guy told Ronnie to put Holly on a leash so he could play ball with his dog, and Ronnie told him he doesn't bring the dog to keep her on a leash... Then the guy walked away, but Holly was following him, I guess hoping he'd throw the ball again, so the guy turned to Ronnie and asked, 'Why is your dog still following me?' and Ronnie..." Dee started laughing. "Ronnie said, 'I guess she likes the smell of s***!'" Then she noticed the Middle Child standing there, and apologized profusely for the language. The Middle Child, quite accustomed to inappropriate language from her parents, just rolled her eyes.

"He chose the wrong dude to pick a fight with," I said. "This is Ronnie's park."

A day later I ran into Ronnie. "I heard you're getting into fights these days. Do we have to ban you from the park?"

Ronnie looked puzzled. "What did you hear?"

"Dee told me-- Shy's owner," I explained, because even though Ronnie knows more human names than anyone else, even he doesn't know them all. "The other day, after I left, I heard a lot of yelling. She said Holly was chasing someone's ball..."

"Oh yeah, that's right!" Ronnie started to laugh. "What an a******! I really lost it with that guy." His version of events matched Dee's almost exactly, maybe a few more details and a few more cuss words. "Some attitude, eh? Like the park belongs to him."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I told Dee he picked the wrong guy to mess with. We all know it's your park. Still, I thought I heard a dog fight. It sounded like you were yelling at a dog."

Ronnie frowned. "What day was that again?"

"Last Wednesday," I said. "You know, there was me, you, Dee and Shy, that woman and her two dogs..."

"Oh that's right!" He laughed. "You did hear a dog fight. That woman's dog, Kumon, all of a sudden she attacked Shy. I had to pull her off. That dog has issues."

That bothered me more than Ronnie's fight; Kumon is a human-friendly dog, and other than a constant need to jump up and lick my face, I hadn't noticed any "issues." I glanced at Our Best Friend, who has plenty of issues, and prayed that Ronnie would never have to pull him off another dog.

"Well, you watch yourself," I warned Ronnie, "and don't let me catch you fighting again!"

Ronnie got indignant. "I don't fight! I'm an easy-going guy! But I'm not going to put up with attitude from anyone!"

I refrained from pointing out that the comment about personal odour was probably unnecessary, and agreed that, of course, no one should have to put up with attitude from anyone at the dog park.

As I walked back to my car, I considered how interesting it was that, when asked what I had heard, Dee remembered a fight from a day I wasn't there, and failed to remember the attack on her own dog. Dog fights we expect; human fights at the park are a little more memorable. And it emphasizes my belief that, though you first come to the park for the dog, we return because of the people.

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The Mayor of Dogtown

If our dog park had to elect a mayor, it would be Ronnie by acclimation.

Ronnie was one of the first people we met when we first started bring Our Best Friend to the park.  He owns two dogs, both female, a lab cross (Brandy) and a malamute cross (Zara).  Yet he's often there with someone else's dog, in addtion to or instead of his own. Sometimes it's Billie, an American bulldog, or Missy, a chihuaha mix, or Stanley, a shepherd mix.  Ronnie is partial to mutts, and he's crazy about Our Best Friend.  He always calls him over, pretending he has a ball to throw, but he's like Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown; his hand is empty. I think OBF is getting wise to him; he doesn't some so quick when Ronnie calls.

Ronnie knows everyone in the park, and his friendships extend past the park's fence. I've heard him talking with people about sporting events, and the conversation is often a continuation about their discussion from the night before, when they all watching the game at home and chatting by phone. The other day, he greeted someone with, "I saw your sister here yesterday." And a different person asked, "Was my dad here then?" I didn't know any of these people, much less that their siblings and parents come with dogs of their own.

I don't know what Ronnie does for a living exactly, something to do with currency exchange, I think (either that or he's a ticket scalper), but it's clear it gives him a lot of free time. He's at the park almost every day, sometimes more than once. He'll come once with his own dogs, later with someone else's. One Sunday he was there with five dogs. The Spouse thinks we should get Ronnie to pick up Our Best Friend on the way.

Ronnie was instrumental in Our Best Friend's successful integration into the park.  The first time we brought him, we were very nervous.  We didn't know how OBF would react when let loose around other dogs, because he barked so aggressively at other dogs whenever we tried to walk him.  We are not dog behaviour experts, and we can't tell the difference between excited barking and aggressive barking.  So the first time we brought OBF, we had him on a leash.

Our Best Friend barked and barked and barked.  We tried to calm him down, but he kept lunging at all the other dogs who came near us.  Then Ronnie walked up to us and said, "You need to take off the leash."

Well, that sounded like bad advice to us. What if OBF went nuts on someone's dog? But Ronnie was sure that it was the leash making OBF so crazy.  Leashes makes dogs feel vulnerable.  They can't defend themselves or run away when restrained by a leash.  And Ronnie was right. The minute we undid the leash (with considerable reluctance and fear, and the Middle Child in terror), everything got better.  OBF sniffed Ronnie's dogs in a friendly, sociable way, and ran around like a kid after a long day at school.  All signs of aggression vanished.  That was beginning of our happy dog park days.

Ronnie always asks about my girls; for reasons unclear to me, he calls the Youngest "the Troublemaker."  At first it bothered me, but then my daughter told me, giggling, "He's joking!"  I knew that, but I wasn't sure she did. Of course the girls love his dogs.  Brandy is affectionate and energetic; Zara is friendly and calm.  She usually flops down on the grass to relax, while Brandy runs around playing. (Sometimes she can even entice OBF to play chase.) Today she left a great deal of slobber on my coat.  I threatened Ronnie with dry cleaning bills, and he just laughed and said, "That's what you get for loving her."  No, I think, that's what you get when you're loved back, as I got multiple Brandy kisses on the nose.

His dogs can slobber on me all they want. Ronnie embodies the spirit of our park-- friendly, open, and a dog lover to the bone. When he runs for mayor, he has my vote.  Not that he needs it, of course-- he's the only man for the job.

It's Not Just Me!

I tend to go on about how special our dog park is, with friendlier dogs and a friends-and-family atmophere.  I know everyone at the park feels that way, but it was brought home again pretty forcefully last night, by two separate encounters.

It was an evening visit, just before 8:00, a beautiful summer night in spite of the late hour.  As I strolled around, a young Rhodesian ridgeback came and gave me a hesistant sniff.  I reached out to stroke her head, but she backed off, scared, and went to her owner. The woman, who I didn't know, smiled at me and say, "She's still young and she's just timid."

"That's fine," I said, "as long as she's gentle."

"Oh, of course," she answered, reassuring me.  "Almost all the dogs at this park are wonderful."

I resisted the temptation to say, "That's what I keep saying in my blog."

Later, we were joined by our friend Morris and his owners.  While we are well acquainted with Morris's gentleman owner, we'd never met his wife before. They all recently moved to the country, and we won't be seeing much of them soon, which is sad for us.  Morris and his owner were among our first dog park friends, and the kids are crazy about him (as am I-- equally fond of dog and man).  As we chatted about the upcoming changes and how Morris and his people will be missed, the wife said how much she loves this park, unlike some others in the city.

"Don't ever go to the dog park in SJH," she warned, mentioning a middle- to upper-middle class neighbourhood about a half-hour drive away.  I know it well-- full of yummy mummies and snobs of all stripes.  "They're all, 'My dog this,' and 'My dog that.'"  She leaned in closer.  "And they don't pick up after their dogs."

She need say no more.

For a place with no lock, no membership requirements, no way to keep out the riff-raff and no way to be by-invitation only, we've managed to build a pretty special place for our pets and ourselves.  It comes to down to expecting standards and maintaining them.  No one gets thrown out, but, just as a slob like me will feel out of place with the yummy mummies of SJH, the yummy mummies won't like the looks they get if they come to our space and leave their poop lying around.  And in our dog park, we tell our friends how wonderful their dogs are-- we don't brag about our own.  (Well, maybe a little, sometimes... but only with encouragement.) 

We'll stay where we are, and we'll enjoy it every chance we get-- me, the kids, the Spouse, the buddies we've made, and of course, Our Best Friend.

Return From Hiatus

The last few posts haven't dealt with dog park per se because we've been away on vacation, and left Our Best Friend behind.  Although we returned a few days ago, it's been pouring rain, and today was my first chance to get back to the park.

We went just before mid-morning, around 9:30.  It was an interesting welcome home; there was only one person I knew, and she and her Doberman pup are just acquaintances.  The two dogs sniffed one another cordially, and OBF went on his way. 

It was a good thing I brought my iPod; no one was in a social mood, not even the dogs.  Two men stood talking, but everyone else was doing his or her own thing.  A woman sat on a bench, writing on a pad.  Her dog ran up to sniff me, but when I stretched out my hand to pat him, he jumped back and ran off.  A man sat alone on another bench, as his dog romped around. OBF gave brief chase to a golden retriever cross, but then galloped past to the water fountain. (Our Best Friend is not very social on his best days.)  We walked the oval path that used to be the bus turnaround; another woman and her Rhodesian ridgeback took the path in the opposite direction.  We smiled at the Doberman pair each time we passed, but overall it was a solitary outing today.

Doesn't matter. It's still our dog park, and it felt good to be home.