I am interrupting work on my soon-to-be-published (I hope) post on this year's fabulous start to summer for this public service announcement - from atop my soap box.
Yesterday, the Beast, my husband, my sister-in-law and I took a short 1.5k bike ride out to a local dog park along the river so that the Beast could cool off with a few laps. (And if I ever finish the other post that I have been working on for a ridiculous amount of hours now, you will see that he spent a whole lot of time there this week).
This particular dog park is actually an island. A water processing plant occupies the north half of the island. The rest belongs to the dogs. And on this particularly hot, sunny and humid day, there were a tonne of dogs. Like, easily 30 of them. Which always makes me a little nervous because the Beast is easily over-stimulated and in such cases, entirely unpredictable when he is faced with soooooooo maaaaannnnnnnyyyyyyyy playmates. Indeed, there was more than one dog fight yesterday as unevenly-matched-energy-wise dogs got on each other's nerves. But miraculously, the Beast was very well behaved. All he wanted to do was jump in the river and retrieve his tennis ball.
And he had help in doing so from a good-natured American bull dog (ABD). Despite said dog's very stout and stocky appearance, he was a pretty good swimmer. Since his owners were sun-bathing on a blanket up above the shoreline, he wiggled his way into my little game of fetch with the Beast. Which was fine with both of us. The Beast certainly seemed to enjoy letting someone else retrieve his ball when he thought that the current had taken it just a little bit too far.
And so ABD, the Beast and I played fetch for about 10 minutes together. Eventually, ABD got tired and ran off to play with another dog on land, while the Beast and I resumed our twosome of fetch.
And then, about 20 minutes later, I heard a man walking up and down the shore calling out for ABD. But ABD wasn't coming. And although the guy looked pretty calm, his girlfriend was not as she frantically approached me to ask if I had seen the American bull dog that my dog had been playing with earlier.
I got a huge knot in the bottom of my stomach.
Because not even one day earlier, someone had said to me that every single year, a dog drowns in this dog park, swept away by the Ottawa River current because it just isn't strong enough to swim. Which is of course the very first thought that entered my head when ABD went missing.
"Honey," I said to my husband. "There's a dog missing. You stay here and watch the Beast. I am going to go and help them look for him."
There are only two ways off the island: you either walk across the bridge that joins it to the mainland, or you swim across. I agreed to walk up and down the shoreline, while the couple headed off toward the bridge.
And so off I went, yelling out "ABD!" up and down the shoreline, hoping that I would find him cooling off under the shade of a tree. But he was nowhere to be found. And the knot in my tummy just got bigger and bigger and bigger.
I walked back toward the main area to check up on the Beast and hubby. By now, people were starting to realize that there was a dog missing, and there was a lot of whispering going on. Just as I was about to set out again, I saw ABD's owner walking toward me. Without ABD. I thought I was going to cry.
But when she got to me, she had good news. They had found him. He was wedged under the back tire of a car in the parking lot, spooked by something that drove him to hide. In fact, the car he was wedged under was about to leave, and could have run over the poor guy. But they found him before that happened, coaxed him out, and were bringing him home.
"Thank you so much for your help," she said, as she began walking away. Then she added, "My god! They're just like kids! You can't turn your back for one second!!!"
Well ain't that the truth....
Seriously though, it's entirely commendable to want to include your dog in your plans for enjoying a beautiful summer day by choosing to hang out at a dog park for an afternoon. I mean really, there are a million more enjoyable places for a human to be, I am sure. But to sit on a blanket and sun-bathe while your dog plays in a fast-flowing river, among 30 or so other dogs, and to not really pay attention to him? Well, that doesn't rank up there as the best life decision.
Which gets me to one of my fastest-developing pet peeves - dog owners who bring their dogs to a dog park and then decide to ignore them completely. Because it's enough just to bring them, isn't it? Surely they'll get all the exercise they need running around with other dogs? Why pay attention to them when there are other important things to do, like check Facebook, chat with other humans, or suck back a Starbucks latté? Besides, nothing bad could ever happen in a dog park. Especially not in a dog park with a fast flowing river and 30+ dogs running around....
Grrrrrrr....
To ABD, I'm glad that you did not drown, and I'm glad that you were found. To your owners, I'm so, so, so relieved that you found him, and I'm glad to have been able to help you look. But most of all, I really, really, really hope this teaches you to smarten the f&#k up the next time you bring him out to the island. Cause a really great tan is not going to replace Man's Best Friend.
Showing posts with label dog park. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dog park. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
Dog park rules
I've written about dog parks once or twice in this blog. Maybe even three times. What can I say? I spend a lot of time in them.
All of the countless hours that I have spent in these parks has led me to one very important conclusion: dog parks are kind of odd little places. I mean, for the most part, the dogs are pretty normal. But the people who frequent the parks, well, let's just say not all of them are normal. Like the guy I met once who challenged another guy to a parking lot fight because the other guy's dog lunged at the Beast. I mean, yeah, sure, it was, er, um, kind of sweet, I guess, that he wanted to protect the Beast. But a fist fight? In the parking lot? With so much foul language? I mean, that is sooooooo high school.... (roll eyes here).
To be fair, the vast majority of dog park goers are not thisscary interesting. But still the crew of dog-park-goers does form a subculture of sorts, differentiated from mainstream society by a series of distinct characteristics. Such as:
But most importantly, as with all subcultures, the dog park crew has established an intricate set of rules that one must follow if they truly wish to belong. These rules are not written down anywhere. I have learned them through countless hours of observation. So I am doing you all a favour (you're welcome) and writing out the top ten here, so that you don't have to go through the ridicule and embarrassment that has been my last 9 months of trying to learn the ropes so that I can truly join thiscult intricate and exciting social group.
10 - Judge all the other dogs in the park as inferiour to your own
There is not one dog in this park who is as handsome/well-behaved/fast/fun/insert-any-other-word-here-that-you-would-like as your own beloved pooch. So judge harshly and judge freely. You have the option of doing this on your own, by silently standing back in a corner, shaking your head, and muttering obscenities under your breath. Or you can pair up with a like-minded dog-park-goer and judge together. It's more satisfying that way.
9 - Judge all the other people in the park as inferiour to you
Maybe you think she's too strict with her dog. Maybe you think she's not strict enough. Whatever. She's obviously doing everything wrong and ruining her dog. Which means that her dog will probably end up in a shelter and someone else will have to deal with its shit. So you should judge that bitch. (Again, this can be done alone or in groups, depending on your mood).
8 - Throw your bags of poop in the garbage can that is clearly marked "No dog waste"
Why not? Everyone does it. It is overflowing with a rainbow of colourful poop bags. So what if it is smells like, well, shit whenever the wind changes directions?
7 - Ignore your dog
Seriously. If you want to be cool at a dog park, you have to ignore your dog, and either sit on a bench and smoke cigarettes with your human friends, or talk on the phone with your human friends. And you should dismiss all of the uncool humans who are debasing themselves by playing fetch with their dogs. Losers.
6 - Make excuses for your dog's bad behaviour, but then do nothing about it
"Oh, he's a rescue" or "Oh, he's a herding dog" (ahem) or "Oh, don't worry, he's not actually going to pierce skin when he bites your dog's neck like that" are all phrases uttered at the dog park by people who then resume rule #7 immediately thereafter. Even when their dog eventually does pierce skin.
5 - Bring food into the dog park at will, and expect all the other dogs to behave politely despite this olfactory overload
Well d'uh! Of course you should be allowed to slip into the dog park with an ice cream cone and be able to eat it in peace while surrounded by 10-20 dogs, 90% of which are quite likely food obsessed because, um, THEY ARE DOGS!!! Then get mad at the dogs and their owners when you get surrounded and the Lab grabs your snack.
4 - Brag about your latest dog gadget
Maybe it's a cool ball chucker. Maybe it's a glow in the dark collar. Maybe it's retractable leash with laser beams that come out of it. Whatever it is, brag about it at will to everyone who will listen so that they know just how much more you obviously love your dog than they love theirs, and then resume rule #9. And possibly rule #6 when your overly-spoiled and undisciplined dog starts biting another dog's neck.
3 - Give children the dirty eye
Children have NO PLACE being in a dog park. Even if they are there with a dog. All they do is run around, make loud noises, and rile up the dogs. And then when the dogs jump on them, they cry. And their adults get mad at the dog and its owner. And there is usually an argument, which gets the kid and the dogs riled up even more until it descends into a messy, tear and bark filled downward spiral. Best to simply not let children come into the dog park. After all, they have their own parks. You know, the ones with monkey bars.
2 - Give unsolicited advice. About everything.
"I think your dog barks so much because he's anxious. Why don't you bring him in to see a behaviourist?" or "Does your dog pull? You should get this harness!" or "Why are you feeding him Fromm's? You should definitely be giving him Origins!" It doesn't matter what the issue is that you do NOT need help with, someone will try to help you out anyway. Out of the kindness of their heart and for the good of your dog, of course. (Not unlike the unsolicited advice that other people give you when you are planning a wedding or raising a child...)
And finally, the number one rule of the dog-park subculture is....
(Insert drum roll here...)
1 - HENCEFORTH, THOU SHALT BE KNOWN BY THY DOG'S NAME, AND ONLY BY THY DOG'S NAME
No one will introduce themselves to you by name. No one will ask you your name. No one will say hi to you directly. But they will introduce you to their dog. They will ask you your dog's name. And they will say hi to your dog the next time they see you instead of to you. Even if they spend fifteen minutes chatting with you every day for the rest of their dog's life, it is quite likely that you will never know their name. And don't make the mistake of asking. Because they don't know how to respond with anything other than a blank stare and a reiteration of their dog's name.
************************
So there you have it! Dog Park 101. Now you are guaranteed to fit in and you can navigate the dog park with ease (again, you're welcome).
Or you can do like I do: spend the whole time in the dog park playing with your dog, and occasionally chatting with a nice adult that you have just met and who actually knows your name because you were brave enough to introduce yourself to him.
Either way, have fun!
All of the countless hours that I have spent in these parks has led me to one very important conclusion: dog parks are kind of odd little places. I mean, for the most part, the dogs are pretty normal. But the people who frequent the parks, well, let's just say not all of them are normal. Like the guy I met once who challenged another guy to a parking lot fight because the other guy's dog lunged at the Beast. I mean, yeah, sure, it was, er, um, kind of sweet, I guess, that he wanted to protect the Beast. But a fist fight? In the parking lot? With so much foul language? I mean, that is sooooooo high school.... (roll eyes here).
To be fair, the vast majority of dog park goers are not this
- a unique fashion sense: I call it the "dog park clothes" line, not to be confused with the lounging around in my Lululemons line. No, Lulus are too high end for the average dog-park-goer. The dog park clothes line consists of anything ratty and even slightly distasteful, but definitely NOT black (no matter how slimming), so that it can be worn freely in dog-slobber and fur-filled environment without fear. Rubber boots are optional. My own dog park wardrobe consists of a pair of jeans bought at Value Village (oh the shame) for 7$, and a pair of sweat pants with a leopard down the side (not leopard print, an actual leopard).
- a distinct patois: Similar in tone to baby-talk in that it is higher in pitch than normal speech, but all that cooing is replaced with "good boy" and "find your ball" in a very excitable tone.
- a love of sporting various accoutrements: The typical dog-park-goer can be spotted from a mile away, because they have a leash worn across their chest (much like Chewbacca's ammunition belt), a poop-baggie holder of some sort clipped to their waist, and a fanny pack full of treats and toys. It's like they are daring others to call them "uncool".
But most importantly, as with all subcultures, the dog park crew has established an intricate set of rules that one must follow if they truly wish to belong. These rules are not written down anywhere. I have learned them through countless hours of observation. So I am doing you all a favour (you're welcome) and writing out the top ten here, so that you don't have to go through the ridicule and embarrassment that has been my last 9 months of trying to learn the ropes so that I can truly join this
10 - Judge all the other dogs in the park as inferiour to your own
There is not one dog in this park who is as handsome/well-behaved/fast/fun/insert-any-other-word-here-that-you-would-like as your own beloved pooch. So judge harshly and judge freely. You have the option of doing this on your own, by silently standing back in a corner, shaking your head, and muttering obscenities under your breath. Or you can pair up with a like-minded dog-park-goer and judge together. It's more satisfying that way.
9 - Judge all the other people in the park as inferiour to you
Maybe you think she's too strict with her dog. Maybe you think she's not strict enough. Whatever. She's obviously doing everything wrong and ruining her dog. Which means that her dog will probably end up in a shelter and someone else will have to deal with its shit. So you should judge that bitch. (Again, this can be done alone or in groups, depending on your mood).
8 - Throw your bags of poop in the garbage can that is clearly marked "No dog waste"
Why not? Everyone does it. It is overflowing with a rainbow of colourful poop bags. So what if it is smells like, well, shit whenever the wind changes directions?
7 - Ignore your dog
Seriously. If you want to be cool at a dog park, you have to ignore your dog, and either sit on a bench and smoke cigarettes with your human friends, or talk on the phone with your human friends. And you should dismiss all of the uncool humans who are debasing themselves by playing fetch with their dogs. Losers.
6 - Make excuses for your dog's bad behaviour, but then do nothing about it
"Oh, he's a rescue" or "Oh, he's a herding dog" (ahem) or "Oh, don't worry, he's not actually going to pierce skin when he bites your dog's neck like that" are all phrases uttered at the dog park by people who then resume rule #7 immediately thereafter. Even when their dog eventually does pierce skin.
5 - Bring food into the dog park at will, and expect all the other dogs to behave politely despite this olfactory overload
Well d'uh! Of course you should be allowed to slip into the dog park with an ice cream cone and be able to eat it in peace while surrounded by 10-20 dogs, 90% of which are quite likely food obsessed because, um, THEY ARE DOGS!!! Then get mad at the dogs and their owners when you get surrounded and the Lab grabs your snack.
4 - Brag about your latest dog gadget
Maybe it's a cool ball chucker. Maybe it's a glow in the dark collar. Maybe it's retractable leash with laser beams that come out of it. Whatever it is, brag about it at will to everyone who will listen so that they know just how much more you obviously love your dog than they love theirs, and then resume rule #9. And possibly rule #6 when your overly-spoiled and undisciplined dog starts biting another dog's neck.
3 - Give children the dirty eye
Children have NO PLACE being in a dog park. Even if they are there with a dog. All they do is run around, make loud noises, and rile up the dogs. And then when the dogs jump on them, they cry. And their adults get mad at the dog and its owner. And there is usually an argument, which gets the kid and the dogs riled up even more until it descends into a messy, tear and bark filled downward spiral. Best to simply not let children come into the dog park. After all, they have their own parks. You know, the ones with monkey bars.
2 - Give unsolicited advice. About everything.
"I think your dog barks so much because he's anxious. Why don't you bring him in to see a behaviourist?" or "Does your dog pull? You should get this harness!" or "Why are you feeding him Fromm's? You should definitely be giving him Origins!" It doesn't matter what the issue is that you do NOT need help with, someone will try to help you out anyway. Out of the kindness of their heart and for the good of your dog, of course. (Not unlike the unsolicited advice that other people give you when you are planning a wedding or raising a child...)
And finally, the number one rule of the dog-park subculture is....
(Insert drum roll here...)
1 - HENCEFORTH, THOU SHALT BE KNOWN BY THY DOG'S NAME, AND ONLY BY THY DOG'S NAME
No one will introduce themselves to you by name. No one will ask you your name. No one will say hi to you directly. But they will introduce you to their dog. They will ask you your dog's name. And they will say hi to your dog the next time they see you instead of to you. Even if they spend fifteen minutes chatting with you every day for the rest of their dog's life, it is quite likely that you will never know their name. And don't make the mistake of asking. Because they don't know how to respond with anything other than a blank stare and a reiteration of their dog's name.
************************
So there you have it! Dog Park 101. Now you are guaranteed to fit in and you can navigate the dog park with ease (again, you're welcome).
Or you can do like I do: spend the whole time in the dog park playing with your dog, and occasionally chatting with a nice adult that you have just met and who actually knows your name because you were brave enough to introduce yourself to him.
Either way, have fun!
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Dog park altercations
The local dog park (the one that we are fighting to save in our neighbourhood), is a great place to be on a sunny Saturday, the morning after we got dumped on with 10-15 cm of snow. Especially at 9:00 a.m., which appears to be a peak hour. All bundled up to guard ourselves against the -30 windchill, we arrived this morning with the Beast in toe to find dogs, dogs and more dogs bounding along in the snow, chasing balls and other squeaky toys, and giving each other snowy face washes.
And so hubby and I played along, chasing the Beast around in circles, throwing his ball, play bowing and rolling around in the snow with him and his pals. It made me feel like a kid again.
All was going super well. All the dogs were getting along. The kids were having fun. The adults were shivering but smiling. The Beast was behaving like a prince. Picture perfect dog park snowy day.
When all of a sudden, the Beast's pal Jengo bolted off across the park towards a woman who was walking her dog down the street. His owner tried calling him back, but it was too late. He had already spotted the leashed-up dog and was proceeding to mount her. The next thing I knew, the woman was screaming, swearing (words that are too profane to put in writing) and venomously insulting both Jengo and his owner. Sensing the tension and the excitement, the rest of the dogs began to rush off towards the unfolding scene, making the woman swear even more profusely and threaten to call the city by-law officer to have all of our dogs "arrested" and put in the pound (even though we were all in the off-leash park). This of course caused all the humans in the dog park to rush towards the scene to extricate their dogs, which caused even more tension and more excitement, which caused all the dogs to start barking, which agitated all of the humans, which agitated the woman, which made her swear even more, which agitated her dog, which caused Jengo to get even more excited, which agitated his human, which agitated the other humans, which got the dogs all worked up, which got the humans all worked up, which caused the dogs to ignore the humans as the humans panicked more and more, which....
Well, you get the picture. This went on for no more than 3 minutes (although it felt like much longer), the time it took Jengo's owner to catch him and haul him away, which gave everyone else a chance to leash up their own dogs so that they could also take their leave, while the woman at the centre of the debacle continued walking down the street swearing like a sailor at the top of her lungs.
And the whole time, the Beast sat quietly at my side.
No seriously. I know it's hard to believe, but he sat by my side the whole time. He was the only dog that was behaved through this little ordeal.
Now, can I just tell you how good it felt to know that there was an altercation at the dog park that (a) my dog didn't start, (b) my dog didn't take part in; and (c) my dog didn't somehow make worse with his frenetic behaviour? Because it felt damn good. Like holy shit good!
And then it hit me. The Beast stayed calm and well-behaved because we stayed calm. While everyone else was panicking, hubby and I calmly reached out for the Beast, got him in a sit and stay, and didn't get agitated alongside everyone else. We stayed in control.
Holy shit! We're becoming calm and assertive pack leaders!!!
I'm probably getting a little too far ahead of myself. I'll need to navigate a few more dog park altercations before I can earn that title... But I'm going to savour this morning's little victory...
And so hubby and I played along, chasing the Beast around in circles, throwing his ball, play bowing and rolling around in the snow with him and his pals. It made me feel like a kid again.
All was going super well. All the dogs were getting along. The kids were having fun. The adults were shivering but smiling. The Beast was behaving like a prince. Picture perfect dog park snowy day.
When all of a sudden, the Beast's pal Jengo bolted off across the park towards a woman who was walking her dog down the street. His owner tried calling him back, but it was too late. He had already spotted the leashed-up dog and was proceeding to mount her. The next thing I knew, the woman was screaming, swearing (words that are too profane to put in writing) and venomously insulting both Jengo and his owner. Sensing the tension and the excitement, the rest of the dogs began to rush off towards the unfolding scene, making the woman swear even more profusely and threaten to call the city by-law officer to have all of our dogs "arrested" and put in the pound (even though we were all in the off-leash park). This of course caused all the humans in the dog park to rush towards the scene to extricate their dogs, which caused even more tension and more excitement, which caused all the dogs to start barking, which agitated all of the humans, which agitated the woman, which made her swear even more, which agitated her dog, which caused Jengo to get even more excited, which agitated his human, which agitated the other humans, which got the dogs all worked up, which got the humans all worked up, which caused the dogs to ignore the humans as the humans panicked more and more, which....
Well, you get the picture. This went on for no more than 3 minutes (although it felt like much longer), the time it took Jengo's owner to catch him and haul him away, which gave everyone else a chance to leash up their own dogs so that they could also take their leave, while the woman at the centre of the debacle continued walking down the street swearing like a sailor at the top of her lungs.
And the whole time, the Beast sat quietly at my side.
No seriously. I know it's hard to believe, but he sat by my side the whole time. He was the only dog that was behaved through this little ordeal.
Now, can I just tell you how good it felt to know that there was an altercation at the dog park that (a) my dog didn't start, (b) my dog didn't take part in; and (c) my dog didn't somehow make worse with his frenetic behaviour? Because it felt damn good. Like holy shit good!
And then it hit me. The Beast stayed calm and well-behaved because we stayed calm. While everyone else was panicking, hubby and I calmly reached out for the Beast, got him in a sit and stay, and didn't get agitated alongside everyone else. We stayed in control.
Holy shit! We're becoming calm and assertive pack leaders!!!
I'm probably getting a little too far ahead of myself. I'll need to navigate a few more dog park altercations before I can earn that title... But I'm going to savour this morning's little victory...
Monday, December 5, 2011
It's just been one of those days...
Today I had a serious case of the blechs.
I blame it on a few factors. I'm seriously lacking in sleep. I had a day full of inefficient and irritatingly long meetings. I had to rush to get out of the door this morning after losing track of time. Oh yes, and it's been a dark, bleak and rainy Monday (see here for my thoughts on this least esteemed day of the week and here for my meteorological lament about precipitation).
Suffice it to say, this was the kind of day that kicked my ass a little, and that left me wanting to do nothing other than crawl into my bed with a big bowl of ice cream the minute that I got home.
Which is why I stayed at work a little bit later than I had to.
"What?" you are probably exclaiming. "How does that make sense? You're having a bad day, you want to be at home in bed, yet you are purposely staying at work? Are you crazy?"
Don't worry - this is not the first time that I've been called crazy, and it likely won't be the last. But in this case, there was actually a method to my madness. You see, hubby and I have an unwritten rule that he or she who gets home from work first is responsible for taking the Beast out for his evening stroll and romp in the park. And remember, today is Monday, it is raining, and I feel blech. Oh, and I took him out for a 6k run in the rain this morning and didn't really feel like getting soaked to the bone twice. So I didn't really want to be the first one home. Our rule may be unwritten, but the "I just don't feel like it" excuse doesn't fly well chez nous.
And so I admit it. In an attempt to secure second place in the race home, I dawdled. I successfully found a few unattended e-mails that needed answering. I did some filing (even though I have an assistant who is far more adept at that than me). I found a couple of reasons to send notes to my boss or other colleagues. And I returned a couple of phone calls even though I knew that the intended recipients would be gone for the day.
And then, when I was sure that hubby would be packing up his office and leaving for the evening (and when my dear friend called to offer me a ride which I will take over the bus any day...), I left the office, secure in the conviction that I could simply come home and sprawl out on the couch while I waited for a soaking wet Beast and a soaking wet hubby to come home for dinner.
But alas, I beat hubby home. I realized it the second we drove up and I noticed the garbage bin still at the curb. Hubby always brings the garbage bin back to the house when he gets home first. I grasped at a glimmer of hope that perhaps he took the Beast for a walk and intended to pick the bins up on the way back, but in the back of my mind, I just knew that he was still at the office.
And that I would be stuck walking with the Beast in the rain.
(Insert unmentionable expletive here. And maybe another one here...)
Well, in the words of my esteemed and wise father, "Dems the breaks, kiddo." I would just have to suck it up, find my rain gear, and get this walk over with.
But something happened to my attitude almost the minute I entered the house.
For starters, whenever the Beast is freed from the confines of his crate, he does this incredibly infectious dance that hubby and I have nicknamed the "happy bum dance". Most dogs would simply wag their tails, but the Beast doesn't have one of those, so his entire bum shakes ferociously back and forth. It is the most darling thing that I have ever seen, and it puts a smile on my face every single time. Even though I know that it is probably a sign of how badly he has to pee, it is nice to pretend that it is because he is just so darn happy to see me. And sure enough, as soon as I let him out tonight, he did the happy bum dance all the way to the patio door, looking up at me the whole time with a smile on his face (which actually probably meant, "Hurry up lady and open the door. I gotta pee!").
By the time the Beast had fulfilled his bodily needs, I was changed into my dog park clothes and ready to hit the streets with him, rain gear and all. And as I pulled on my rubber boots and slung my dog-walking knap sack over my shoulder, the Beast was sitting like a perfect gentleman at the front door, waiting for me to clip his leash on and take off. If you had any idea how long it took me to get him to wait patiently to go for a walk, you would understand why this sight makes me so happy. Even happier because the whole time, he had a big goofy grin on his face, almost as infectious as the happy bum dance.
And then there was the walk itself. Yes, it was raining. And yes, I got soaking wet. But each time I would glance down to the Beast at my side, I could not help but notice how happy he was to be out and about. His ears were back, his nose was up in the air so that he could sniff everything as we walked by, and every now and then, when I would make a kissey sound to get his attention, he would look back at me with that big silly grin.
So we walked for half an hour. And when we got to the dog park, we were greeted by two other dedicated dog owners who were braving the elements with their dogs. So we stayed there for half an hour, playing fetch with the boys and watching them get more and more dirty as they ran through puddles, snow piles and patches of mud.
It wasn't until I my fingers were so numb with cold that I had lost feeling in them that it occurred to me that I was actually having a good time. In the cold. In the dark. In the rain. On a Monday. Despite my blechy day.
It's like I told one of the dog park humans this evening in response to his polite, "How was your day?"
"Well," I said, "it was actually pretty shitty, until about half an hour ago."
"Yeah," he said. "That's what dogs do. They make your day better."
And he is right. There is something about the Beast's live-life-right-now-no-matter-what-is-going-on attitude that sweeps me away every single time. He doesn't care about the weather. He doesn't care about the day of the week or the time of day. He doesn't care that he spent the previous eight hours by himself in the house while hubby and I were at work. He just loves life, and wants to live every moment to its absolute fullest. How on earth can anyone resist that attitude?
I am quite sure that there will be plenty more blech days. But I am pretty lucky that the Beast will be waiting for me when I get home to put a smile on my face while I watch him do his happy bum dance.
Thanks for the pick-me-up, little buddy.
I blame it on a few factors. I'm seriously lacking in sleep. I had a day full of inefficient and irritatingly long meetings. I had to rush to get out of the door this morning after losing track of time. Oh yes, and it's been a dark, bleak and rainy Monday (see here for my thoughts on this least esteemed day of the week and here for my meteorological lament about precipitation).
Suffice it to say, this was the kind of day that kicked my ass a little, and that left me wanting to do nothing other than crawl into my bed with a big bowl of ice cream the minute that I got home.
Which is why I stayed at work a little bit later than I had to.
"What?" you are probably exclaiming. "How does that make sense? You're having a bad day, you want to be at home in bed, yet you are purposely staying at work? Are you crazy?"
Don't worry - this is not the first time that I've been called crazy, and it likely won't be the last. But in this case, there was actually a method to my madness. You see, hubby and I have an unwritten rule that he or she who gets home from work first is responsible for taking the Beast out for his evening stroll and romp in the park. And remember, today is Monday, it is raining, and I feel blech. Oh, and I took him out for a 6k run in the rain this morning and didn't really feel like getting soaked to the bone twice. So I didn't really want to be the first one home. Our rule may be unwritten, but the "I just don't feel like it" excuse doesn't fly well chez nous.
And so I admit it. In an attempt to secure second place in the race home, I dawdled. I successfully found a few unattended e-mails that needed answering. I did some filing (even though I have an assistant who is far more adept at that than me). I found a couple of reasons to send notes to my boss or other colleagues. And I returned a couple of phone calls even though I knew that the intended recipients would be gone for the day.
And then, when I was sure that hubby would be packing up his office and leaving for the evening (and when my dear friend called to offer me a ride which I will take over the bus any day...), I left the office, secure in the conviction that I could simply come home and sprawl out on the couch while I waited for a soaking wet Beast and a soaking wet hubby to come home for dinner.
But alas, I beat hubby home. I realized it the second we drove up and I noticed the garbage bin still at the curb. Hubby always brings the garbage bin back to the house when he gets home first. I grasped at a glimmer of hope that perhaps he took the Beast for a walk and intended to pick the bins up on the way back, but in the back of my mind, I just knew that he was still at the office.
And that I would be stuck walking with the Beast in the rain.
(Insert unmentionable expletive here. And maybe another one here...)
Well, in the words of my esteemed and wise father, "Dems the breaks, kiddo." I would just have to suck it up, find my rain gear, and get this walk over with.
But something happened to my attitude almost the minute I entered the house.
For starters, whenever the Beast is freed from the confines of his crate, he does this incredibly infectious dance that hubby and I have nicknamed the "happy bum dance". Most dogs would simply wag their tails, but the Beast doesn't have one of those, so his entire bum shakes ferociously back and forth. It is the most darling thing that I have ever seen, and it puts a smile on my face every single time. Even though I know that it is probably a sign of how badly he has to pee, it is nice to pretend that it is because he is just so darn happy to see me. And sure enough, as soon as I let him out tonight, he did the happy bum dance all the way to the patio door, looking up at me the whole time with a smile on his face (which actually probably meant, "Hurry up lady and open the door. I gotta pee!").
By the time the Beast had fulfilled his bodily needs, I was changed into my dog park clothes and ready to hit the streets with him, rain gear and all. And as I pulled on my rubber boots and slung my dog-walking knap sack over my shoulder, the Beast was sitting like a perfect gentleman at the front door, waiting for me to clip his leash on and take off. If you had any idea how long it took me to get him to wait patiently to go for a walk, you would understand why this sight makes me so happy. Even happier because the whole time, he had a big goofy grin on his face, almost as infectious as the happy bum dance.
And then there was the walk itself. Yes, it was raining. And yes, I got soaking wet. But each time I would glance down to the Beast at my side, I could not help but notice how happy he was to be out and about. His ears were back, his nose was up in the air so that he could sniff everything as we walked by, and every now and then, when I would make a kissey sound to get his attention, he would look back at me with that big silly grin.
So we walked for half an hour. And when we got to the dog park, we were greeted by two other dedicated dog owners who were braving the elements with their dogs. So we stayed there for half an hour, playing fetch with the boys and watching them get more and more dirty as they ran through puddles, snow piles and patches of mud.
It wasn't until I my fingers were so numb with cold that I had lost feeling in them that it occurred to me that I was actually having a good time. In the cold. In the dark. In the rain. On a Monday. Despite my blechy day.
It's like I told one of the dog park humans this evening in response to his polite, "How was your day?"
"Well," I said, "it was actually pretty shitty, until about half an hour ago."
"Yeah," he said. "That's what dogs do. They make your day better."
And he is right. There is something about the Beast's live-life-right-now-no-matter-what-is-going-on attitude that sweeps me away every single time. He doesn't care about the weather. He doesn't care about the day of the week or the time of day. He doesn't care that he spent the previous eight hours by himself in the house while hubby and I were at work. He just loves life, and wants to live every moment to its absolute fullest. How on earth can anyone resist that attitude?
I am quite sure that there will be plenty more blech days. But I am pretty lucky that the Beast will be waiting for me when I get home to put a smile on my face while I watch him do his happy bum dance.
Thanks for the pick-me-up, little buddy.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
The fight of the Beast's life**
(**Some melodrama may apply)
There are two things that you should know about me.
1 - I am not - by choice - a parent. While there are undoubtedly many wonderful things about having children, I have found that there are more than a few fringe benefits to not having any. Such as: freedom to go on a vacation whenever I want to; the ability to spend all of my money on myself; peaceful nights of uninterrupted sleep; and the ability to hand over a screaming child to someone who is truly responsible for their well-being.
2 - I am also a very bad volunteer. I have tried to find a cause so inspiring that I would be more than willing to give up my precious spare time for the greater good. But alas, I am selfish with said precious spare time, and loathe to share it. I appease my bad-citizen-induced-guilt in two ways: I give an outrageous amount of money to various charities (remember, no R.E.S.P. to which I must contribute...); and I don't nag my obsessively civic-minded husband when he gives up his spare time to any number of community-oriented causes, from the alumni association to the community association to the community spring clean-up to delivering community newspapers. Believe me when I say that he volunteers enough for our entire neighbourhood.
So with this knowledge about me firmly in hand, you may be surprised to hear that last night, I found myself sitting in on a community meeting involving the redesign of an area local park to make it more family friendly. Certainly, I was surprised that I was willing to give up 2-plus hours of my life that I will never get back. Also certainly, 6 short months ago, I wouldn't have gone to such a meeting, since (a) we don't have kids who could benefit from new play structures in the 'hood and (b) my civic-minded husband always goes to these things and would aptly represent our interests (or non-interests as the case may be).
But not last night. Nope. This time, I found the cause that made me willing to forgo pvr'd episodes of The Dog Whisperer and a glass of wine.
(Insert suspenseful pause HERE).
They want to mess with the dog park!!!!
(Insert audible gasp HERE, followed by a solid "How could they?!?!" HERE).
I suppose I should back up and tell the story properly...
So, hubby and I live in a downtown neighbourhood. We have a backyard, but it is tiny (20 by 40) and taken up mostly by deck. Hardly any kind of yard in which a high strung doggy can run around freely. As a result, since adopting our Beast, my husband has been forced to listen to me muse about moving to a bigger house with a bigger yard (and a bigger mortgage). Being the money conscious kind of guy that he is, and knowing that my musings have a tendency to turn into ceaseless nagging, he has taken it upon himself to remind me that a mere block and a half away, there is a fabulous green space, officially designated by the City as a dog-friendly park, where the Beast can run around to his heart's content. Furthermore (hubby takes great pleasure in pointing out to me), if we were to move away from this community, we would be tearing the Beast away from all of the great puppy pals he has made over the past six months, including his girlfriend Ruby the Black Lab, whom he loves more than life itself...
So by manipulating my Beast-sympathetic heart strings, hubby has convinced me that this park makes our 'hood the best possible place for us to live. So I should just STOP looking at houses for sale on mls.ca...
But then a few weeks ago he came home from his monthly meeting with the Community Association with news that our City Councillor had found money for the redevelopment of the park, and that...
"What?!?" I exclaimed before he could finish his thought. "They can't take away the Beast's dog park? Who the hell do they think they are?"
"Um, honey, nobody said anything about getting rid of the dog park," he said in his oh-so-logical-and-measured tone of voice.
"Oh, she might not have said it, but she is thinking it!!! Why else would they renovate a perfectly lovely green space where only dogs run around, hubby? Huh? Huh? HUH????"
...
It took awhile for hubby to talk me down off a ledge and to convince me that our Councillor was not, in fact, the devil incarnate out to destroy our life with the Beast. When he finally did manage to calm me down, he recommended that I e-mail the Councillor with my ideas about the park redesign, so that they could be taken into consideration during the design stage. So I sat down with my laptop in hand and typed out the following statement in the subject line:
LEAVE THE PARK ALONE! LET THE DOGS RUN FREE!
Which hubby later made me erase, along with a few expletives, when I asked him to read the e-mail.
In the end, I toned down the rhetoric and sent a somewhat less bitchy e-mail, and the Councillor was kind enough to pass my comments along to the designer. She was also kind enough to invite me to a community meeting, where the plans would be unveiled and we would have a chance to comment.
It is only fitting to pause here and ask if anyone has ever seen the movie Footloose. Remember the scene where Kevin Bacon appears in front of town council to request permission to hold a senior prom? He knows that the entire council is against dancing, and that a good number of townspeople are equally against dancing, and that he has a hard battle in front of him. So he whips out a Bible (thanks to his girlfriend) and finds ample evidence of Christian dancing to bolster his case. And in the delivery of his impassioned speech, which secured him a standing ovation, he gave millions of viewers goosebumps, and the feeling that they could achieve the impossible... (Even though town council ultimately voted against the dance and he had to hold it in another jurisdiction...)
...Well, in my head, this town meeting became my Footloose. I convinced myself that the Councillor and the designers and a big whack of community members would show up determined to run the dogs out of town. And while I didn't turn to the Bible to find evidence of the goodness and utility of canines, I spent days thinking of what I would say when given the opportunity so that I could convince them that they were wrong, that I was right, and that dogs deserve a place in the 'hood to hang out too. I was bound and determined to be articulate, convincing, and get my standing ovation, dammit!!!
So I went to the meeting. I looked at the plans. I listened to the Councillor talk about responding to the needs of the entire population of this area. I listened to the project manager give an overview of park renovations. I listened to the designer give a description of everything that he thinks he should do to this park to make it perfect, including reducing the dog footprint to a fenced-off 30% of the park so that elements such as a splash pad (there is another three blocks away) and a community theater stage (and there is another of these too, just one block away) could be included. And I waited patiently for the presentation to be over so that I could get a chance to speak.
And when the presentation was finally over, I put my hand up faster than everyone in that room, and I got to take the floor first.
And so I told a packed room what it means to dog owners to have a park in the area. That it is difficult to see a plan that reduces dogs to a mere corner of the park when they have access to the whole thing now. That there has to be a way to make it more inviting without pushing one segment of the population out. And that elements such as splash pads and theaters that exist a few blocks away need not be repeated here at the expense of space for everyone to enjoy the natural elements of the park.
I didn't get a standing ovation. But I did get a few fellow dog owners thank me after the meeting. And I did spark quite a debate about the splash pad (who knew...). But most importantly, I stood up for my Beast. I articulated for him something that he can't say for himself: the importance of having his space and his friends and his time to be a live-in-this-very-moment dog.
So no, I don't have children. And no, I don't volunteer very much. But I am responsible for taking care of another sentient being, albeit one with four legs and a lot of fur, and I do believe that his well-being should count for something in this community.
I have no idea how this park battle will turn out. But I know that I will fight until the bitter end to get rid of that damn splash pad and make sure that my boy has enough room to be a dog.
And who knows. When all of this is said and done, maybe I will have found the civic cause that makes me get off my ass and work in the community...
The things I do for this dog...
There are two things that you should know about me.
1 - I am not - by choice - a parent. While there are undoubtedly many wonderful things about having children, I have found that there are more than a few fringe benefits to not having any. Such as: freedom to go on a vacation whenever I want to; the ability to spend all of my money on myself; peaceful nights of uninterrupted sleep; and the ability to hand over a screaming child to someone who is truly responsible for their well-being.
2 - I am also a very bad volunteer. I have tried to find a cause so inspiring that I would be more than willing to give up my precious spare time for the greater good. But alas, I am selfish with said precious spare time, and loathe to share it. I appease my bad-citizen-induced-guilt in two ways: I give an outrageous amount of money to various charities (remember, no R.E.S.P. to which I must contribute...); and I don't nag my obsessively civic-minded husband when he gives up his spare time to any number of community-oriented causes, from the alumni association to the community association to the community spring clean-up to delivering community newspapers. Believe me when I say that he volunteers enough for our entire neighbourhood.
So with this knowledge about me firmly in hand, you may be surprised to hear that last night, I found myself sitting in on a community meeting involving the redesign of an area local park to make it more family friendly. Certainly, I was surprised that I was willing to give up 2-plus hours of my life that I will never get back. Also certainly, 6 short months ago, I wouldn't have gone to such a meeting, since (a) we don't have kids who could benefit from new play structures in the 'hood and (b) my civic-minded husband always goes to these things and would aptly represent our interests (or non-interests as the case may be).
But not last night. Nope. This time, I found the cause that made me willing to forgo pvr'd episodes of The Dog Whisperer and a glass of wine.
(Insert suspenseful pause HERE).
They want to mess with the dog park!!!!
(Insert audible gasp HERE, followed by a solid "How could they?!?!" HERE).
I suppose I should back up and tell the story properly...
So, hubby and I live in a downtown neighbourhood. We have a backyard, but it is tiny (20 by 40) and taken up mostly by deck. Hardly any kind of yard in which a high strung doggy can run around freely. As a result, since adopting our Beast, my husband has been forced to listen to me muse about moving to a bigger house with a bigger yard (and a bigger mortgage). Being the money conscious kind of guy that he is, and knowing that my musings have a tendency to turn into ceaseless nagging, he has taken it upon himself to remind me that a mere block and a half away, there is a fabulous green space, officially designated by the City as a dog-friendly park, where the Beast can run around to his heart's content. Furthermore (hubby takes great pleasure in pointing out to me), if we were to move away from this community, we would be tearing the Beast away from all of the great puppy pals he has made over the past six months, including his girlfriend Ruby the Black Lab, whom he loves more than life itself...
So by manipulating my Beast-sympathetic heart strings, hubby has convinced me that this park makes our 'hood the best possible place for us to live. So I should just STOP looking at houses for sale on mls.ca...
But then a few weeks ago he came home from his monthly meeting with the Community Association with news that our City Councillor had found money for the redevelopment of the park, and that...
"What?!?" I exclaimed before he could finish his thought. "They can't take away the Beast's dog park? Who the hell do they think they are?"
"Um, honey, nobody said anything about getting rid of the dog park," he said in his oh-so-logical-and-measured tone of voice.
"Oh, she might not have said it, but she is thinking it!!! Why else would they renovate a perfectly lovely green space where only dogs run around, hubby? Huh? Huh? HUH????"
...
It took awhile for hubby to talk me down off a ledge and to convince me that our Councillor was not, in fact, the devil incarnate out to destroy our life with the Beast. When he finally did manage to calm me down, he recommended that I e-mail the Councillor with my ideas about the park redesign, so that they could be taken into consideration during the design stage. So I sat down with my laptop in hand and typed out the following statement in the subject line:
LEAVE THE PARK ALONE! LET THE DOGS RUN FREE!
Which hubby later made me erase, along with a few expletives, when I asked him to read the e-mail.
In the end, I toned down the rhetoric and sent a somewhat less bitchy e-mail, and the Councillor was kind enough to pass my comments along to the designer. She was also kind enough to invite me to a community meeting, where the plans would be unveiled and we would have a chance to comment.
It is only fitting to pause here and ask if anyone has ever seen the movie Footloose. Remember the scene where Kevin Bacon appears in front of town council to request permission to hold a senior prom? He knows that the entire council is against dancing, and that a good number of townspeople are equally against dancing, and that he has a hard battle in front of him. So he whips out a Bible (thanks to his girlfriend) and finds ample evidence of Christian dancing to bolster his case. And in the delivery of his impassioned speech, which secured him a standing ovation, he gave millions of viewers goosebumps, and the feeling that they could achieve the impossible... (Even though town council ultimately voted against the dance and he had to hold it in another jurisdiction...)
...Well, in my head, this town meeting became my Footloose. I convinced myself that the Councillor and the designers and a big whack of community members would show up determined to run the dogs out of town. And while I didn't turn to the Bible to find evidence of the goodness and utility of canines, I spent days thinking of what I would say when given the opportunity so that I could convince them that they were wrong, that I was right, and that dogs deserve a place in the 'hood to hang out too. I was bound and determined to be articulate, convincing, and get my standing ovation, dammit!!!
So I went to the meeting. I looked at the plans. I listened to the Councillor talk about responding to the needs of the entire population of this area. I listened to the project manager give an overview of park renovations. I listened to the designer give a description of everything that he thinks he should do to this park to make it perfect, including reducing the dog footprint to a fenced-off 30% of the park so that elements such as a splash pad (there is another three blocks away) and a community theater stage (and there is another of these too, just one block away) could be included. And I waited patiently for the presentation to be over so that I could get a chance to speak.
And when the presentation was finally over, I put my hand up faster than everyone in that room, and I got to take the floor first.
And so I told a packed room what it means to dog owners to have a park in the area. That it is difficult to see a plan that reduces dogs to a mere corner of the park when they have access to the whole thing now. That there has to be a way to make it more inviting without pushing one segment of the population out. And that elements such as splash pads and theaters that exist a few blocks away need not be repeated here at the expense of space for everyone to enjoy the natural elements of the park.
I didn't get a standing ovation. But I did get a few fellow dog owners thank me after the meeting. And I did spark quite a debate about the splash pad (who knew...). But most importantly, I stood up for my Beast. I articulated for him something that he can't say for himself: the importance of having his space and his friends and his time to be a live-in-this-very-moment dog.
So no, I don't have children. And no, I don't volunteer very much. But I am responsible for taking care of another sentient being, albeit one with four legs and a lot of fur, and I do believe that his well-being should count for something in this community.
I have no idea how this park battle will turn out. But I know that I will fight until the bitter end to get rid of that damn splash pad and make sure that my boy has enough room to be a dog.
And who knows. When all of this is said and done, maybe I will have found the civic cause that makes me get off my ass and work in the community...
The things I do for this dog...
Monday, September 5, 2011
The bully
-->
In junior high, I was bullied.
"Emily" (a name I've chosen out of the blue) was a typical
"mean girl". She was the most popular girl in school. She was the
captain of the ringette, baseball and track and field teams. She always wore
the latest teen fashions (at the time, Club Monaco sweatshirts). And she had a
following of other "mean girls" who did her every bidding and wanted
to be just like her.
Emily made it her mission to make my life a living hell. I could write a
book about all the mean things she did to me. Like the time that she convinced
the guy I had a major crush on to ask me to the junior high dance, and then to
dance with every other girl except for me. I spent that entire night hiding -
and crying - in the girl's washroom, with echoes of cruel laughter ringing in
my ears. In fact, I spent most of the seventh grade hiding in the girl's
room...
There is no doubt about it, being the victim of a bully sucks. A lot.
So you can imagine how devastated I was to find out that my dog can be a bit
of a bully himself.
When you are the owner of an Aussie shepherd-border collie mix, it is
tempting to make excuses for some of your dog's less-than-preferred behaviours.
He is, after all, bred to herd. So of course he stampedes into the middle of a
pack of dogs, runs loops around all of them, bites at their necks, barks like a
maniac, and bum-checks them into submission. He's simply doing his job, telling
everyone where to be, what to do, and when to do it.
It's also delusional - and extremely irresponsible - to think like this.
I quickly realized that the Beast was not acting like a normal,
happy-go-lucky herding dog. He was actually making it his job to find the
weakest dog in the herd, and to torment the shit out of it. He would bark, nip,
bum check, and bark some more, pulling out every weapon is his domineering
arsenal to completely isolate one poor puppy, and to draw attention to the fact
that he had the upper hand.
He was the canine version of Emily.
And I was in no mood to put up with it.
It is hard work to train a dog, but it is especially hard work to train him
while he is in a dog park, surrounded by temptation in the form of toys,
smells, and other dogs. He isn't necessarily interested in listening to a thing
that you have to say when he is so focused on, say, constantly nipping another
dog. So we weren't having an awful lot of success getting the Beast to play
nice with others. In fact, every trip to the dog park left us feeling
demoralized from spending way too much time yelling commands like "Beast!
Off!" or "Beast! No barking!" to absolutely no avail. It was
hard to want to come back with our hyperactive, domineering, bullying jerk.
But consistency is key, so we faithfully went back to the dog park every
Sunday, resolved to get through to the Beast one way or another. And then, fate
intervened - in the form of a slightly aggressive dog.
The Beast was orchestrating his typical dog park game, barking and running
circles around all the puppies until they all stood in the centre of the park.
Whenever one would try to escape, he would bark and nip at it until it came
back to the herd. But one dog just would not listen to him, and the Beast was
getting increasingly agitated. His barking got more and more insistent, almost
desperate. I stepped forward with the leash, calling him to me, ready to put
him on a time out. But before I could get to him, he nipped at the other dog's
neck, and...
... well, she threw the gloves off.
There was no warning growl, no warning snarl to tell the Beast to back off.
No - she went straight in for the kill, baring her very sharp teeth and aiming
straight for his neck. The Beast had no choice but to defend himself. Within seconds, we were witnessing a full-blown dog fight. And it was
NOT a game.
If you have never seen a dog fight, take my word for it when I say that it
is a very scary thing. There is not a damn thing that you can do to get your
dog's attention when he has a set of jaws clamped down on him. I was absolutely
paralyzed, futilely repeating his name over and over again, panic taking over
my every faculty.
Hubby, thankfully, was moved to immediate action, as was the other dog's
owner. Both reached down to grab and pull these new arch-enemies off of one
another. After a few seconds, all parties retreated to their separate corners,
where anxious humans examined their dogs for injury. Luckily, no canine wounds
could be found. Unluckily, hubby bled all the way out of the dog park, and all
the way to the walk-in clinic where he received a just-in-case tetanus shot...
(As for me, I self-medicated my anxiety with a large glass of wine when I got
home...)
It was tempting to never return to the park again. But we knew that this was
not an option. The Beast still needed to learn how to play nice. So he needed
to go back to the scene of his crime.
There was a noticeable difference in the Beast's approach to the park. He
didn't burst through the gate in his normal, frantic way, leaping into the
middle of the pack with a great, big "I'M
HE-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-R-E!!!!!!!" Well, at least not totally. He
exploded into the park, but hit the brakes about 2 meters away from the other
dogs. Keeping this respectful distance, some of the braver dogs started to
approach him for a sniff. And he did something that I had never seen him do
before. He turned around and let one of the dogs sniff his bum. The ultimate
sign of sweet, beautiful, perfect submission.
It lasted for about five seconds before he bolted away, beckoning with his
loud, shrill bark, telling everyone where they should be and what they should
be doing...
But it's gotten better. Visit by visit, he's become less and less of a
jerk.
His days of exploding into the park seem to be behind him. In fact, he waits
for me to move forward - and even to urge him on - before he jumps into a group
of dogs. And for now, the one-note cacophony of barking is no more. He barks
once. If he gets interest, he hops into the middle of a game of chase or a
rousing wrestling match. If he gets no interest, he actually turns around and
walks away, rather than pestering the dog until it would rather jump in front
of a moving bus than stand there at his mercy.
He has actually learned how to play nice. I hardly recognize him. Neither do the
humans who have witnessed him tormenting their dogs on Sundays past...
I also know that I hadn't a damn thing to do with the Beast learning this
important life lesson. Dogs learn best from their own kind. Stripped of human
emotions - like anger, frustration, and panic - dogs can communicate far more
effectively with one another than we can with them. They teach each other clear
and concise rules, boundaries and limitations. It is why doggy socialization is
so very important.
Of course, a sharp set of teeth help move the lesson along...
Who would have thought I would be grateful to another bully for putting my Beast in his place...
Monday, August 1, 2011
"I don't like dogs. Could you get him away from me?"
Everywhere we go with the Beast, people of all ages can not help but turn their heads to look at him. Many times, we get a "Ooooohhh, he is such a handsome boy," or a "Do you mind if I pet him?" and of course, the ever popular, "What kind of dog is he?" Sometimes, we get no more than a simple smile, which I am pretty sure means "My, what a well-behaved and perfect pet you have there." Either way, we are chuffed with pride whenever it happens.
Yet every now and then, we meet people who do not share our enthusiasm or admiration for the Beast. The first time this happened, we were at the dog park. The Beast was running around and herding all of the dogs in the park, and for the most part, they were all listening - staying all together in a close-knit circle around him. Except for one dog, who was sitting under a plastic white patio chair in which her owner had parked himself to enjoy a glass of wine. At the dog park.
Now the Beast, as we have already discussed, is one dominant little bugger. When said doggy wasn't listening to his clear and concise instruction to rejoin the herd, he began circling her like a crazed Tasmanian devil, barking like a maniac. At this point, I abandoned my conversation with another dog owner and came in to intervene and to teach Beasty that not everyone has to want to play with him.
Unfortunately for me, the Beast did not yet have great recall, as we were a mere two or three weeks into our lives together. (Truth be told, his recall still sucks, but that is the subject for another post). So of course, he would not respond to my instruction to cease and desist. As a result, I was forced - embarrassingly - to chase him in a big round circle, looking like that jerk of a dog owner that has absolutely no control over her dog. When I finally caught up to him, he had that crazed look of focus and determination in his eyes, and snapping him out of it was no easy feat. So I put him back on his leash and removed him from the situation, but not before I apologized to the victim of the Beast's tirade and his owner.
As I turned to walk away, head bowed low in shame because I knew my dog trainer would be disappointed in me, I heard said dog owner mutter under his breath, "Your dog is an asshole." I immediately straightened up, turned around, and said, "Excuse me?" to which he replied again, "I said your dog is an asshole."
Now I am trained in conflict resolution, and so I know that conflict usually emerges from an unmet or misunderstood need. Perhaps this individual really, really, really needed to have a quiet moment with his dog while sipping on a glass of wine (in a dog park) and my dog ruined that for him. Or perhaps he sensed that his dog was becoming anxious and wanted to protect her while he was sipping on a glass of wine (in a dog park).
Or maybe sometimes, conflict just simply emerges because people are assholes. Which is the obvious conclusion that I have drawn from this encounter with a man who came to sit in a corner by himself and drink wine at a dog park while his dog sat under his chair.
Nonetheless, I drew on my conflict resolution training, calmed myself down, and diplomatically said, "I apologize for ruining your evening. He is still in training," and turned around to walk away. And then, something more primal kicked in - perhaps some deep-rooted protective lioness instinct - and I turned back to him and said, "Besides, this is a f$!#ing dog park, not a bar. Dogs BARK!"
In my head, I heard other responsible and conscientious dog owners everywhere clapping and screaming my name as I walked away. In reality, that was not the case. But I felt much better.
The second episode was just today. After a weekend without the pooch, hubby and I vowed to give him a crate free day, and so we took him out with us on a three hour stroll, including a stop at a local celebration of an historical day in our city's heritage. The Beast was the model of a perfect dog citizen. For most of the walk to the park, I let the leash drag on the ground and he never once bolted ahead without permission. He let kids and adults come up to him and pet him. He did not bark once. When the parade came by, led by bagpipes (which made his little ears perk right up), he sat quietly and watched. And when the costumed 18th century British militia men fired their muskets, he was happily lying down beside me in the shade chewing a stick.
Which is why I was surprised when, after he got up to stretch his legs a little and wandered behind me (while still on leash hooked around my waist), I heard a lady behind me say in a very gruff voice, "I don't like dogs. Get him away from me."
Might I point out that at the time that she said this, the Beast was not even looking at her and was not making his way toward her. In fact, he was a good meter and a half away from her. So I wanted to say something to the effect of, "my dog doesn't like old ladies so perhaps YOU should move away from HIM." But my parents raised me to be far more polite than that. Instead, I redirected the Beast and brought him back towards me, where he happily resumed chewing on his stick. I am quite sure that she expected me to move to a whole new spot so that she could resume her dog free afternoon. But I did not. Because the Beast was being well-behaved, was on-leash, and frankly has as much right to be there as she does. She kept a nasty eye on him for the rest of the event, and I on her.
I'm okay with people disliking dogs in general. I'm even okay with people disliking my dog in particular, because let's face it, he can be a handful. But I am not okay with people who think that they are allowed to be jerks to me and the Beast because he is "just a dog." I mean, he is just a dog, but he is MY dog.
Could you imagine if it was okay to say these things about children? It's no secret that I have got the motherly instinct of, well, something that has absolutely no motherly instinct (I need to watch more of the National Geographic channel to finish that thought, I think...) And there are some children who, admittedly, I find unbearable. But I have never once said, "Your kid is being an asshole" while, for example, drinking a glass of wine in a day care centre. Nor have I said, "I hate kids. Get your screaming baby away from me."
Okay, perhaps I have wanted to say both. But I haven't. Because clearly, I'm far more civilized than the two anonymous individuals who inspired this post...
And worry not, dear readers. The Beast has recovered from all insults against his canine-ness, and is happily sucking every last bit of meat and marrow out of a bison bone on the back deck.
Yet every now and then, we meet people who do not share our enthusiasm or admiration for the Beast. The first time this happened, we were at the dog park. The Beast was running around and herding all of the dogs in the park, and for the most part, they were all listening - staying all together in a close-knit circle around him. Except for one dog, who was sitting under a plastic white patio chair in which her owner had parked himself to enjoy a glass of wine. At the dog park.
Now the Beast, as we have already discussed, is one dominant little bugger. When said doggy wasn't listening to his clear and concise instruction to rejoin the herd, he began circling her like a crazed Tasmanian devil, barking like a maniac. At this point, I abandoned my conversation with another dog owner and came in to intervene and to teach Beasty that not everyone has to want to play with him.
Unfortunately for me, the Beast did not yet have great recall, as we were a mere two or three weeks into our lives together. (Truth be told, his recall still sucks, but that is the subject for another post). So of course, he would not respond to my instruction to cease and desist. As a result, I was forced - embarrassingly - to chase him in a big round circle, looking like that jerk of a dog owner that has absolutely no control over her dog. When I finally caught up to him, he had that crazed look of focus and determination in his eyes, and snapping him out of it was no easy feat. So I put him back on his leash and removed him from the situation, but not before I apologized to the victim of the Beast's tirade and his owner.
As I turned to walk away, head bowed low in shame because I knew my dog trainer would be disappointed in me, I heard said dog owner mutter under his breath, "Your dog is an asshole." I immediately straightened up, turned around, and said, "Excuse me?" to which he replied again, "I said your dog is an asshole."
Now I am trained in conflict resolution, and so I know that conflict usually emerges from an unmet or misunderstood need. Perhaps this individual really, really, really needed to have a quiet moment with his dog while sipping on a glass of wine (in a dog park) and my dog ruined that for him. Or perhaps he sensed that his dog was becoming anxious and wanted to protect her while he was sipping on a glass of wine (in a dog park).
Or maybe sometimes, conflict just simply emerges because people are assholes. Which is the obvious conclusion that I have drawn from this encounter with a man who came to sit in a corner by himself and drink wine at a dog park while his dog sat under his chair.
Nonetheless, I drew on my conflict resolution training, calmed myself down, and diplomatically said, "I apologize for ruining your evening. He is still in training," and turned around to walk away. And then, something more primal kicked in - perhaps some deep-rooted protective lioness instinct - and I turned back to him and said, "Besides, this is a f$!#ing dog park, not a bar. Dogs BARK!"
In my head, I heard other responsible and conscientious dog owners everywhere clapping and screaming my name as I walked away. In reality, that was not the case. But I felt much better.
The second episode was just today. After a weekend without the pooch, hubby and I vowed to give him a crate free day, and so we took him out with us on a three hour stroll, including a stop at a local celebration of an historical day in our city's heritage. The Beast was the model of a perfect dog citizen. For most of the walk to the park, I let the leash drag on the ground and he never once bolted ahead without permission. He let kids and adults come up to him and pet him. He did not bark once. When the parade came by, led by bagpipes (which made his little ears perk right up), he sat quietly and watched. And when the costumed 18th century British militia men fired their muskets, he was happily lying down beside me in the shade chewing a stick.
Which is why I was surprised when, after he got up to stretch his legs a little and wandered behind me (while still on leash hooked around my waist), I heard a lady behind me say in a very gruff voice, "I don't like dogs. Get him away from me."
Might I point out that at the time that she said this, the Beast was not even looking at her and was not making his way toward her. In fact, he was a good meter and a half away from her. So I wanted to say something to the effect of, "my dog doesn't like old ladies so perhaps YOU should move away from HIM." But my parents raised me to be far more polite than that. Instead, I redirected the Beast and brought him back towards me, where he happily resumed chewing on his stick. I am quite sure that she expected me to move to a whole new spot so that she could resume her dog free afternoon. But I did not. Because the Beast was being well-behaved, was on-leash, and frankly has as much right to be there as she does. She kept a nasty eye on him for the rest of the event, and I on her.
I'm okay with people disliking dogs in general. I'm even okay with people disliking my dog in particular, because let's face it, he can be a handful. But I am not okay with people who think that they are allowed to be jerks to me and the Beast because he is "just a dog." I mean, he is just a dog, but he is MY dog.
Could you imagine if it was okay to say these things about children? It's no secret that I have got the motherly instinct of, well, something that has absolutely no motherly instinct (I need to watch more of the National Geographic channel to finish that thought, I think...) And there are some children who, admittedly, I find unbearable. But I have never once said, "Your kid is being an asshole" while, for example, drinking a glass of wine in a day care centre. Nor have I said, "I hate kids. Get your screaming baby away from me."
Okay, perhaps I have wanted to say both. But I haven't. Because clearly, I'm far more civilized than the two anonymous individuals who inspired this post...
And worry not, dear readers. The Beast has recovered from all insults against his canine-ness, and is happily sucking every last bit of meat and marrow out of a bison bone on the back deck.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)