Grr was playing with a couple of French bulldogs at the dog park yesterday, wrestling and nipping at each other to entice the other to games of tag. A shiba inu repeatedly defied his mom to sneak off to a corner of the grass where a patch of melted ice cream called out for him. I was keeping one eye on Grr and another on my bike, which I was too lazy to lock up and just parked in the middle of the field. Sam was keeping both eyes on a woman in a red blouse and matching beret:
"No dog, no kids, but she's hanging around the dog park and chumming it up with everyone? She's either a freak or homeless, probably both, but either way, you two keep your distance."
Friendliness was apparently out of Sam's realm of possibility.
The weather had turned decidedly gorgeous, especially when compared to the clouds and rain just over the weekend. The sun was bright at 5:30, still warm when the wind was calm. When I reached down to pet Grr, his back was all wet, presumably from rolling around in the grass, though I suspect some of it was probably another dog's spittle.
Sam and I were in the midst of discussing Grr's little poop mishap at the house earlier today (if you haven't picked up on it, more conversations between us than I'd like to admit center around Grr's scatological behaviors lately). Then I heard the barking.
It was not the playful kind, the come-chase-me-before-I-chase-you kind. This was dark, menacing and immediate.
Then I heard shouting. From across the field, I saw two dogs intertwined, all sinewy muscles and bared teeth. Apparently, it was over a bouncing rubber toy. One wanted it, the other wanted it more, and one was willing to take things to a violent place before giving it up.
(Which, if you think about it, happens to people all the time. How many news stories out there chronicle the events leading up to someone getting shot or stabbed over the stupidest thing, some slight indiscretion on the road, a misinterpreted glance?)
It took three people to separate the two, an American bulldog and a pitbull. The pitbull's mom had to wrestle him to the ground while his dad took a bite to the leg (from the pitbull, for the record). The American bulldog's mom ran over to him and screamed, and I thought of that sound all evening, the terror and heartbreak in her voice when she saw blood smeared across her dog's face.
I whipped around to find Grr. He was oblivious to the whole thing, milling about aimlessly behind me, finding dandelions to uproot and pieces of bark to hide in his cheeks for me to dig out later.
My heart was still in my throat.
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This morning, I awoke to a dream where Sam, Grr, and I, as well as some other people I "knew" but didn't really know, were vacationing or something in a casino/hotel/convention center/mall. As dreams go, it was all of those things, and none. Grr had wandered off, and nobody seemed to care or worry that he might be in danger. I looked from hall to hall, room to room, but I could not find him. I panicked, started running throughout the suddenly-cavernous facility, scanning every aisle, every nook. I found a security guard who was uncooperative, and I told him that I will turn this whole fucking place inside out until I find him. I even felt my voice go raw from yelling this ultimatum.
But then I did find him. He was playing with two little bunnies in a corner by the women's bathroom. I ran over to him, ready to swoop him up, ecstatic and relieved to find him happy and unharmed.
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