Marty's Bon Mots (Selections found in: Glad You Asked)

Little did I know, but a month or so ago I was advised by my wife that my little suburban town boasts a dog park.  

Prior to my first visit to such an establishment, my vision of your basic dog park was profoundly less than inviting.  I envisioned a gated off area.  I envisioned hordes of canines of every description and demeanor whose sole purpose was to tear into me and leave their calling cards at every available, or unavailable, spot within the confines.  I anticipated nauseating smells and sights.  

And so it was with no small amount of apprehension that I secured our happy puppy and drove with her to the gated area tucked discretely behind our local municipal building in the attempt to gain admittance to this dog park.

The outer gate allowed my access into a twelve by twelve gated area.  The inner gate provided access to the inner sanctum.  I was pleasantly surprised.  The area was covered in small stone gravel.  It was roughly the size of a good sized suburban back yard and sported shade trees, a handful of park benches, drinking bowls, water hoses, exercise hoops, inclines and wooden platforms.  They even offered discretely placed bags and containers.   Plenty of space for a seven month old energetic pup to smile and run her ya yas out.   

And so she did. 

I was concerned that I would be bowled over by a teeming population of overly aggressive, suspicious, protective pets.  Our first exposure to the place found us alone.  And so Jersey and I communed with the gravel and the benches by sniffing and prancing.  So did the dog. There was an old tennis ball.  This was thrown, happily retrieved and chased.  For the most part, I sat in the shade and read a book only occasionally looking about to determine whether Jersey was enjoying herself.  She was quite content with the environs and had herself a wonderful time.  

I advised myself that this was not an unpleasant way at all to kill off an hour or so.   I vowed to return.

And so we have, a number of times.  However, the first experience was the only time we found ourselves alone.  Since then we have encountered dogs of every age, size, description and socialization skill.  Since then we have encountered dog owners of every age, size, description and socialization skill.  

I must admit, my socialization inclinations at these outings occupy a fairly low rung.  Our entrance is casually observed by the other locals and these observations are duly noted and returned with a single nod accompanied by an unleashing and a slow but purposeful saunter over to the farthest bench. 

The interactions that take place during these sessions are subtle but interesting nonetheless.  I equate the communications that take place in the dog park as equivalent to those that take place in an elevator.  On the one hand, we are obliged to acknowledge the presence of the other.  Yet, we have little inclination to initiate an unsolicited ice breaker.  

“How’s the old prostate?”  Hmm.  Maybe not. 

“My wife has developed a feminine itch.”  Possibly a bit much.  

Perhaps some common ground?  “I see you’re going to the 7^th floor.  Isn’t there a parole office on that floor?”  Maybe a little less intrusive. 

“Nice day if it don’t rain, huh?”  

Looks like my ice breaking skills might need some touch up.  

But in the dog park there are several ice breakers.  

“What kind?”

“How old?”

“How did you get your dog?”

I’ve tried all of these ice breakers.  From there, the owners, thus far, have been enthusiastic about spilling their proverbial beans.  

I have learned of divorces, pet adoptions, surgeries, recuperation periods, weddings, illnesses, births, house purchases, relocations, graduations, book reviews, favorite television shows, relatives both past and present, occupations and avocations.  All I have to do in order to solicit and later maintain this level of untoward air of forthrightness and openness is to pretend I have an interest and occasionally nod or utter a “Yeah”  or “I’ll say” or “No kidding?” Having said that, and now that I think of it, protocol requires I must occasionally offer up a tidbit of my own.  So I will offer vague particulars regarding the adoption of our fair Jersey.  

Occasionally one of these pet owners will unilaterally unload their wellspring of knowledge with respect to the proper care, maintenance and feeding of my particular charge.   Again, I feign interest complete with furrowed brow and a well timed “you don’t say?”  

I also observe the interactions between the dogs.  I would have to say the following with respect to the smaller dogs.  It appears as though they are terribly insecure and they feel it is, therefore, incumbent upon them to sublimate their stature with vocal protestations.  The larger and/or older animals do not feel so compelled and, in general, receive these high decibeled intrusions with substantial doses of ennui and ignore them outright.  When Jersey was several months younger, she would be terribly intimidated by these caterwaulings and would tuck tail and prance away despite the fact that she was as large as those who wouldst protest so vehemently.  This particular trait has since evaporated. 

The dogs’ socialization expression, of which I have observed thus far, is pretty limited.  Their idea of hello is an approach and a rear end sniffing.  Among people I have known, this type of behavior might be considered unusual and perhaps even unwelcome.  Nevertheless this may be one of the many areas that distinguish western human civilization and the canine kingdom.  After the sniff, a decision is made between the sniffer and the sniffee.  Assuming all is well, the sniffee becomes the sniffer and all ends civilly with a decision to either run together playfully or to sashay off in their own directions.  

On the other hand, the recipient of a sniffing may be thoroughly untrusting with respect to this prospective exchange.   In fact, the potential recipient might tuck tail and seek refuge behind the master or under a park bench where there is a mistaken belief that a certain measure of security and safety awaits.    Little realizing the social gaffe that has just been committed, the hiding party has unwittingly just opened the door to certain feelings of superiority, or at least an enhanced sense of curiosity, on the part of the previously pursuing canine, either one of which mandates further pursuit.  It therefore becomes incumbent upon the otherwise reclusive dog to either further dig in, or reassess his or her situation by letting go and joining in the wild rumpus.  The latter forum remains inconsistent in that there are several variables with which to consider including, but not limited to, the scariness factor possessed of the pursuer or his or her agedness.  It has become clear that neither size nor age nor gender nor coloration is a factor within this particular equation.   I can only narrow this scariness factor down to what was once referred to as ‘vibe’. 

I have yet to witness a full on fight requiring an owner’s intervention.  Make no mistake, there has been barking aplenty but it takes hardly any imagination or skill to distinguish between the bark intended to convey fear or a greeting or a warning.  

I enjoy my time in the dog park.  I enjoy petting the other dogs that come over to check out this new old guy.  I enjoy watching them play together.  

I don’t get a lot of reading done and I can live without the human small talk.  But it’s a small price to pay.