A Relaxing Day at the Dog Park

It’s 9:15 AM — a gorgeous, blue-sky spring day.  I’m driving over to Winslow Park

for a fun, relaxing time with my boys, Kemba and Ruckus.

I park in the Westport Playhouse lot, in the absolute closest spot to the off-leash area, and open the doors.  Both dogs make a jailbreak to where a cluster of their buddies are already circling.  They have no interest in other areas of the park where they might possibly bother people.  They don’t even see people — they only see the other dogs.  This is how every dog enters the park every day.

But on this particular day, a Westport Animal Control officer blocks my path, and barks (tee hee), “ARE THESE YOUR DOGS?  They need to be leashed!  And when you get to the off-leash area” — which, from where we’re talking, is all of five feet away — “you’ve still got to have a leash on hand for each dog.  A violation will cost you $77.”  I’m thinking about asking for clarification — Is that $77 per dog, or per owner — but I keep my mouth shut and try to corral my animals.  This, however, is close to impossible around the water fountain.  The dogs see other dogs.  They see people wielding Chuck-its.  They see abandoned tennis balls.  There’s just way too much going on.  I persevere though (I’m thinking of the $77 . . . or the $154), latch onto both my dogs’ collars, hook ’em up, and walk them, leashed, the whole five feet to the off-leash area.

Phew.  But before I can launch my first grungy ball from my pock-marked blue Chuck-it, I already hear my friend Larry yelling at Kemba, who seems to be fiercely wrestling with Lincoln.  I’m guessing they’re just playing, but the way the day has started, who knows? — so I rush over to break them up.

At this point I notice Ruckus trotting over to a far-away, private corner of the park to poop.  I reach into my pocket, and — maybe for the first time ever — I’m not carrying a bag.  I’m thinking, if it’s $77 for no leash, what’s it going to cost me for an unclaimed poop? — so I hustle back to the fountain for one of the dark green bags out of the dispenser on the fence to go collect Ruckus’s load.  (For a mid-sized dog, he makes a mighty poop.)

Now I see Guy-With-Baby-Stroller launching balls with his Chuck-it for his some-kind-of-poodle-or-doodle.  The guy’s dog is totally uninterested, but Kemba sees his opportunity, streaks after the ball, and drops it at Guy-With-Baby-Stroller’s feet.  This guy likes Kemba — we’ve met before — but then Ruckus, toiletries finished, gets involved.  And as most of you know, when Ruckus latches onto a ball, it’s game over.  I can see that the guy, who’s somewhat possessive of his ball, is getting irritated, so I repeatedly have to figure out ways to trick Ruckus into coughing up the ball so I can return it — an exercise that goes on for quite some time but becomes tiresome quickly.

Now Kemba scouts the area for some privacy and takes his turn at the john . . . so it’s back to the water fountain for another poop bag.

A newcomer has arrived on the scene, a white Lab-ish dog named Callie, whose owner is wearing a purple, floppy hat.  The owner has one of those balls attached to a short rope, a sort of swing-and-fling toy.  She heaves it, and her dog (like Stroller Guy’s doodle) is not interested . . . but (of course) Kemba and Ruckus are!  And when Ruckus clamps his jaws on the swing-and-fling, it’s (of course) game over.  So the same deal again.  I trade for treats.  Trick him with a stick.  Finally, Lady-With-Hat wants to leave . . . but now I can’t detach the toy from Ruckus no matter what the bribe.  She backs away, saying, “That’s okay, when you get it, just leave it on the fence for me . . .”  Of course, at this point, when no one wants it anymore, Ruckus drops the toy, and I’m able to return it.

Finally things seem to have quieted down when I see coming at me, independently, from opposite directions . . . the white Dogo Argentino and the white English Golden who upended me three weeks ago and landed me in the E.R. with a concussion (see “Gaining on Wayne”)!  Is this real, or is this a nightmare??!!

I check my phone.  Ten-fifteen.  We’ve been here an hour.  That’s enough relaxation for one day.

(And a big Happy Birthday to Ricky the Beagle!  You’d be 14 today, my good boy 🙂 )

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