So now that I am living the life of a work from home type person I spend a fair amount of time at the dog park. The Bell Branch Dog Park off Rt. 424. This is an effort on my part to reduce my personal guilt when looking at the dogs throughout the day. “Go away. Don’t look at me. You have been to the dog park. I owe you nothing. The dog walker will be here in 4 short hours.” Yes, I have kept the dog walker. Even though I am home during the day. No one believes that if you work at home – that you actually “work”. My mother called and asked me twice today to go see a movie with her. No. I can’t. I am working.
But the dog park is an interesting place. It , like many other places, has a community. I have been going for two weeks in the mornings from about 7m to 8am.
I see the same people every morning. I know none of their names. Only their animals names. And it actually IS a fair assumption to judge a person based on their animal. I’m not going to get into the fact that I am Hambone’s owner.
There is Heidi’s owner. Heidi is a yellow lab/golden/cross breed. Slightly heavy set and generally very friendly. Her father is a man who wears clean socks and docksiders with a giant gash up one side separating the sole from the actual ‘shoe’. He has very old blue cargo shorts that he also wears everyday and that homeless people would reject if offered for free. But he is funny. He knows these ladies that come every morning and he likes to irritate them. I have decided to name this man Bob. If you ask Bob about his dog he will loudly proclaim "THAT IS NOT MY DOG. THAT IS MY GOOD FOR NOTHING SON'S DOG THAT HE LEFT WITH ME". Bob kinda has this attitude with a lot of things. The 'say things loudly to confuse people into thinking you are upset about things you aren't really upset about' attitude. I like it.
There is Diesel’s mom, a stylish African American woman. Diesel is a giant overfed humping maniac in the form of a white Labrador. She is laid back and in much better shape than her pet. I will name her Silvia. Silvia does not like Bob’s shoes and reminds him of that every morning.
Then there is Megan (again – I am making up these people names) she owns a lunatic sheepdog that has recently gotten a VERY bad haircut on his entire body - except for his head and his tail. So his expression is always that of just having gotten off a wild roller coaster ride nude. He’s one with the look. Megan accidentally turns the hose on around Bob’s shoes a lot. She enjoys it. As do I actually. It makes him dance a bit.
Then there is Leigh, the young and slightly lesbian looking dog walker that arrives with no less than 6 dogs in the same vehicle. All of the dogs are completely different and somehow she gets them all in and out with no complaints or hassle. This is quite a feat since one of them is Hilter and the others are all giant and meandering. Leigh is gifted. She just got a new Jeep Compass on Monday and I remarked on it (I don’t talk much at the park) because she had been driving the same load in an old white Grand Am before that. I question why she chose white interior with a cargo of 6 dogs daily. But this is her life. She can do as she wants.
And then there is Amy. I have named her Amy because she reminds me of a girl I went to elementary school with that I hated. Amy drives us all batshit. She is a twenty-something that brings a camp chair and a shit for brains evil dog. And she never shuts up. Ever. I believe Bob may just kill her as a civil service to the rest of us.
I will pay him for this deed. I may even bake something for him.
Amy has a dog names Kristine. I sense that it is spelled with a K and not a C. Amy is just There when you arrive – who knows if she arrives at dawn. I do not care. She never leaves. Hence the chair. Without any coaxing she will tell you her dogs life story. Over and over again. And that she is on disability. Once I contemplated asking what she is on disability for – but then I looked at Bob and thought he might throw a rock at my head. The unspoken rule at the park is “do not encourage Amy to speak”.
But sometimes it’s hard. I mean she’s not ever fucking leaving. And part of me wants to understand where the hell her problems stem from. What is the core of this desperate, pathetic nature that just emotes from her. Like a smell. People can see it from 20 feet away. Is it the GIANT jeans that beg for a belt? Is it the whiney voice? Is it the Sammy Hagar hair and the books in her camp chair sidecar about Beading and Jewelry Making for Dummies? Her bizarre taste in eyewear that does not suit or even FIT her head? I don’t know.
It’s hard to tell. Her dog …Kristine..is a huskie. But it’s like a toy sized huskie. Small and evil and always looking for the next victim to draw blood from. The kind you could not cleanly punt. The teeth are too ready to reach around and take a chunk out of your calf.
But I am being too negative.
I’m not perfect.
My dogs are not perfect.
They are, in fact, FAR from perfect.
Oh well…maybe Bob will kill her and I can visit him in jail. Maybe I can work through this then.
I have to go...I think Thor is eating a baking pan in the next room.