We’ve been taking our dogs to Twilleger Park for, gosh, years. And for the past little while, I’d come to look forward to the moments I’d see a certain golden retriever. She’d spot me (or anyone else she deemed worthy) and no kidding, she’d tear across the park (we’re talking about a 1/2 km run from the point of the parking lot to where the water starts, the park itself is probably a few hundred km), a blond streak of fur. Then a few feet from you, she’d brake to a hard stop, prance to where you were, then do the most exuberant “I’m a dog! I’m a dog!” tail/body wag, siddle up to you and brace herself against your legs until you petted her. Then she was off again, back to her owner and sibling…
We saw the man today, but only one dog (and a puppy). I asked him where his girl had gone. He said they lost her back in November.
Y’all, I was crushed. I don’t know this man–hell, I couldn’t pick him out in a line up, and I didn’t even know the dog’s name, but I knew her spirit and I feel diminished and saddened by her passing. Funny, how strangers (both four and two legged) can touch our lives in ways we don’t even know, until they’re gone.
And in the “Give me a God-Dang Break” files:
Same park, same day, another guy with a retriever…one who decides to take off with our dogs’ ball. No biggie. What do I care, I’ll go and buy another one. But the guy insists on getting the ball back to us.
The only problem?
He’s got NO control over his dog. So for God knows how long, we’re stuck, watching him call his dog, chase his dog, and as his frustration grows, so do his remarks. He starts complaining about how his dog will just eat the ball, how he’ll have to take the dog to the vet, now.
Give. Me. A. Break.
It’s called training and more than that, it’s called being gracious and having a freakin‘ sense of humor–especially when the people to whom the ball belongs aren’t even doing jack to make you feel like an idiot or stupid for not being able to control your dog.
Hell, buddy, I know your pain. My dog’s the same way (though I DID get the ball away from him. Every time he takes it from another dog…just saying), but spare us all the pleas for sympathy/the passive-aggressive remarks (yeah, right. Cause it’s really MY fault that your dog takes the ball and it’s totally my fault you can’t get him to give it back).
Some days, you really wonder about people (which is far better than the days when you know people are wondering about you!).