My Four- and Two-Legged Children

The other day, the boy and I took Haaaaawleeeeee Pupster (aka Holly or You Dumb Dog) to the dog park for some canine play time. Before I moved to the great metropolis that is Northern Virginia, I had never even heard of a dog park. Huh? A park just for dogs? Um, why? Now I know why. There are two types of dog owners here: 1) those with multi-million dollar homes with big yards and paid employees whose sole responsibility is to care for the household tail-wagger; and 2) the majority of us with apartments or condos or townhomes with, if you're lucky, postage stamp-sized yards, with only whiny children to force to take out the dog to pee and poo. These cooped up dogs need a way to expend their energy.

So, alas, we have dog parks. Ours is actually kind of nice, a 90' x 150' shaded area with on-site water to quench the thirst that the pups work up during play time. It is covered only in dirt and mulch, so be prepared to come home with a blackened, mud-covered dog if you go there shortly after a good rain. I once saw a "dad" on the verge of tears when his lovely white Akita found a deep puddle and proceed to roll in it. Dirty dog. Funny to us other owners, but not to her person. I did cry out 'oh no!' in feigned sympathy for this guy's upcoming chore of giving a thorough bath and bleaching to the muck-riddled dog. Holly is a Border Collie - half black/half white, so she'll only been in need of 50% of such a cleansing the first time she discovers such slimy soaked soil. Right?



During our most recent excursion, there were plenty of other mangy mutts running around, so Holly was in doggie heaven. She's a herder, so loves to chase and corral the other animals, no matter their size. She's also uber-friendly and takes time out from her work to greet and love and kiss every human who wanders into the park. Lucky for her, she's quite adorable, so nobody seems to mind the unexpected saliva she is prone to heap on her victims.



Holly's play time lasted about 45 minutes, until it became evident that she was too pooped to run any more, and needed to go home for a doggie nap. She was ready to leave, but 13 year-old TER was not. He hadn't played at all - with Holly. Instead, he had made friends with a large, prissy poodle. This prissy poodle is named Rocco. He must have been gay, as all male poodles must be. That, or very secure in their sexuality. Really, when was the last time you saw a male poodle, much less one named Rocco, that had the appearance of a dog overloaded with testosterone - ready to bear his teeth and eat you in one bite? Never. They are just the prissiest breed out there. (I do not count any creature that fits in your purse as a dog - only as overgrown rats. If you can drop kick it, it is NOT a dog!)



I finally separated the boy from his effeminate friend and piled both he and Holly back into the car. That puppy immediately lay down on the back floorboard and dozed all the way home. That boy asked if we could go again tomorrow. I think he and Rocco made a date. They will have to reschedule. TER has baseball practice all week, and I'm sure Rocco the poodle has Doggie Ballet class or some such thing.