Happy Cinco de Mayo!
Yeah, I know, sort of anticlimactic after yesterday’s Star Wars
festivities (May the Fourth be with you!)
But I celebrated a little differently. Have you ever stood on a cliff face and
wondered what it would be like to step over the edge? Okay, I know that sounds a little too morbid,
especially coming from somebody who is chronically depressed, but in a way,
that's what I did yesterday.
I was on the way to town; I had to drop off a bank deposit
and pick up a couple of essentials from the grocery store. It was a beautiful warm day; I had both dogs
with me and I thought why not (eerie music plays: bum bum bummmm), let's stop
at the dog park.
OMG! Trying to get
two leashed dogs from the appropriately named parking lot into the park was like
trying to unbraid a Rastafarian's hair.
The tethers were going in every direction at once, and of course, every
blade of grass, tuft of shrubbery, tree trunk and fence post had to be individually sniffed and then peed on.
When I at last got them both going in the same direction and
we crossed the bridge that separates the skateboard park from the dog park, I
was pleasantly surprised that there were only two dogs in the huge
enclosure. This was Cory’s first outing,
and I had some mental reservations about how he would socialize with other
dogs. I had little to worry about; after
the requisite butt checks, the four little guys set about frolicking.
I was conversing with two mommies about breeds, adoption and
personalities when another mommy came with her two dogs. Then another arrived, and then two more, and
two more, and then three parents simultaneously, each with two of their own. Soon there were in excess 30 canines running
about the park.
The dogs eventually broke out in four or five packs, each
with a self-elected alpha quarterbacking the activities. There were the occasional skirmishes within
the squads; sometimes a parent would have to intervene as a referee, but most
of the time it was settled by a negotiated trade with one of the other teams.
The fun came as each new arrival would enter through the
double gated sally port. All the teams
would rush the new recruit and vie to draft him or her onto their team. This frequently ended in loud arguments
between multiple alphas, and often involved a parent or two venturing into the
swirling tempest of snarling muzzles in order to separate the running backs
from the defensive linemen.
One of the more entertaining sights was when my Sebastian
would be taunting a big dog (he loves to play with dogs at least four times
as large as he), and he would get in the big guy’s face (literally, he stands
on his back feet and puts his front paws on the other dog’s face), sometimes
the bigger dog would react with an end around blitz that would knock poor
Sebastian to the ground. It would not
deter my little guy; he is confident that his 20 pounds of spry, cunning offense is no match for any 100 pound defensive linebacker. But every time Sebastian was knocked over,
Cory would sprint from whatever third string practice squad he was assigned to, and pounce on the big dog to defend his brother.
I would have to jump in and tell Cory it was okay, that Sebastian and his friend were only playing and that he’d better get back to his own team or he would get cut
(again) and have to sit on the bench during the games.
Eventually the length of their tongues dangling from their
mouths told me it was time to get the leashes reattached and head back to truck
where I had a cold bottle of water waiting to quench their well-earned thirst.
It was good for all of us to get out, and I think I enjoyed
it almost as much as they did. There is
little doubt that we will be visiting the park again soon.
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