Grr plays at a dog park almost every day. Since he abhors walking on the noisy sidewalks by our house, just refuses to do it, he ends up with an abundance of pent-up energy, which he usually takes out on Sam by nipping at him while they sit on the couch together. At the park, he can run around, free from the noisy streets and the 'urbanness' of the City, and take his squirelliness out on other dogs. Better them than us.
(Sidenote: I've come to associate dogs and their behaviors at the dog park with gays and their behaviors at a bathhouse. Consider: most dogs just want to wrestle and wedge their noses in each others' nether regions. When a new dog walks in, all eyes turn, but only a few brave pups actually run up to make contact. There is always one dog that every other dog wants, and another that just wants to mount whomever is nearby. Sometimes, a group of dogs will collide at the center of the field into a orgy of fur and teeth, but usually, the park is much more sedated with dogs coupling or tripling up quietly in corners or along the fences. Throw in some poppers and a closed-circuit TV and I think that just about does it.)
Grr loves the park. As soon as I unclick his leash from his collar, he bolts for the nearest dog, sniffing and slapping his feet on the ground as an invitation to run around and pounce on each other. Sometimes, the other dog responds, sometimes not. If not, Grr moves on to the next one until he finds a taker, at which point he would bare his fangs, raise his front paws, and inevitably end up pinned to the ground. His coordination needs refining.
And sometimes, if a group of dogs are already playing but outrank him in size, he will run alongside them in their outer orbit, poke his head in closer when he feels safe, dash away when the growling grows fierce. Though he has quickly bolstered his self-confidence in the last few weeks, bigger dogs, even docile ones, still tower menacingly over him.
Yesterday, he must have eaten an extra Scooby Snack because he spent 15 or 20 minutes chasing and wrestling with a vizsla mix who was about one-and-a-half times his size. He ran so hard, he repeatedly slipped on the grass, but still managed to get a few good body blows in. Grr had more fun with him than I had ever seen him have.
Seeing this taught me a lesson. (I don't have much else to do at the dog park but pick up poop, think of dirty analogies and learn life lessons.) I often have a hard time meeting new people and making friends. I don't know how to be like Grr; I can't just walk up to somebody, sniff their butt, and then run off playing for the next 20 minutes. Well, I could, and in the City, it might just work with the right audience, but I'm not sure how deep that friendship would be. Well, in the City, it could be plenty deep. . . OK, I'll stop.
If Grr were more like me, he would not have met Lambchop yesterday and had what seemed to be the time of his life. Or at least the time of his day. If I were more like Grr, I couldn't even say how many people I could have met, how many friends, or the fun I could have had growing up. I remember an incident in my parents' garage one afternoon when I was probably no more than seven or eight. A girl from the house across the street, maybe a few years older, walked over and asked me if I would like to join her and a group of neighborhood kids; they were all just running around and playing tag. I had seen them before, watched them that afternoon, and as much as I know now that I had wanted to, I declined. Just flat out said, "No, I'm OK," and stayed with my grandpa as he organized the shelves. Doing nothing.
I wish I could remember my thinking back then, because I am convinced that I was not OK, that I wanted to go play with them but just didn't know how, even with a direct invitation. Even my grandpa asked me why I didn't go off, but I can't remember what I said. Sad thing is, I can still be like that, refusing an invitation despite my contradictory desires. Watching Grr, as skittish as he can be sometimes, act so brave with other dogs, especially one outside of his comfort zone, was a simple, shining example for me to follow.
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