My dog Bailey has never met
anyone - of either the two-legged or the four-legged variety - that she doesn't
like. When we're out for a walk, she
eagerly pulls toward anyone that she sees, her tail wagging in happy anticipation.
Once, a woman walking toward us
stopped and asked of Bailey, "Is that dog smiling?" I'm sure she
was. I have no doubt that if dogs are
capable of smiling, Bailey would be just the dog to figure it out.
When I'm out for a walk, I'm not
nearly as keen as my dog about meeting other people. Sometimes I just want to be alone with my
thoughts and the occasional birdsong.
Other times I'm not interested in sharing small talk with strangers. Still other times, the reason I am out
walking with my dog in the first place is because I need to get away from people
for awhile so that I can avoid the urge to strangle some of them.
Sadly, Bailey's encounters with
other people and dogs do not always go the way she'd hoped. Occasionally, she
will be much more excited about meeting someone than they are about meeting
her. Of course, to Bailey, their
rejection merely means that she has to try harder to win them over. I can imagine her canine brain reasoning,
"maybe if I sit adorably and offer my paw, they will love me." She doesn't realize that the only hope of
that person loving her would be if she ceased to be a dog. Ever the optimist, Bailey continues on her
walk, certain that the next person will find her agreeable.
A few times, encounters at the
dog park have gone horribly wrong. Once,
a woman with a small white dog insisted that I allow her dog to meet
Bailey. Before I could object, her dog
went all Cujo and nearly bit Bailey's face off.
Another time, Bailey nearly crushed a tiny dog in her enthusiasm to play
with it. A fifty-five pound dog is not
usually a suitable playmate for a fifteen pound dog in spite of numerous
pocket-sized dog owners suggesting otherwise.
These experiences convince me that
a trip to the dog park would be much more enjoyable if there weren't any other
people or dogs around to spoil it. My introverted
nature, which tends to present itself as crabby, anti-social behavior, would do
best if I could just walk the dog already and then go home. Move along folks; there's absolutely nothing
to see here, and I certainly don't want to socialize.
Thus my idea for Lisa's
Anti-Social Dog Park: a place where
people and dogs keep to themselves and do their best to avoid one another. No eye contact, no small talk, and certainly
none of that let's-get-acquainted butt-sniffing dogs are so fond of. Plus, everyone - human and dog alike - would
be safer thanks to the park's mandatory fifty-feet personal space
requirement. No chance for dog bites if
you're no closer than a nod-and-wave distance.
Everyone moves along the walking
path and then goes home. The end. Wouldn't that solve so many problems?
Just don't tell Bailey about
it. I don't think she'd quite understand
the concept.
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