Role reversal at the dog park — by Juno

Juno is an increasingly popular, even famous dog-blogger, a fan favourite amongst takenote.ca readers.

[Juno] So here’s how things usually work, each and every day, down at the Peach Orchard Dog Park in our little town of Summerland.

Shortly before 0800 seven days a week, MawPaw (MP) and PawPaw (PP) drive me down to the dog park, a five-minute trip past cool running creek water, a local campground on our right, and beautiful and in some cases historic homes of all descriptions on all sides. Each and every day along this familiar route, a routine kicks into gear. I get excited, very excited; my heart pounds; I start to whimper; whimpers turn into howls, and finally, I erupt into some of the sharpest barks this side of Calgary—PP turns his hearing aids down, seriously. I am not kidding. Every day!

At the bottom of the hill MP turns the car hard right and I spot the dog park. I get more excited; occasionally the car rocks back and forth; we pull into a parking space. MP and PP don appropriate clothing—on cold days MP puts a silly green sweater on me, when she’s cold. I launch from the back of the car; I bolt through the newly constructed gate and join a circling menagerie of four-pawed friends. It’s a great way to start the day, for dog and human like.

Typically, the humans throw balls that we four footers chase, intercept, or catch. The same routine continues, unabated, for at least 30-40 minutes. My friends and I never tire of this routine. But PP—and MP if she gets cold—sometimes look bored. They want something different. I understand their frustration, their occasional boredom. So, here’s my idea. Let’s reverse the roles between dog and human at the dog park. Let’s see what happens if instead of humans throwing things for dogs, dogs throw things for humans. I can’t drive the car down the hill, but once arrived at the dog park, much can change. Here is what I imagine might happen.

Starting with MP and PP, I herd them first into the entry gate area. Sometimes they stray a bit, distracted by weather, washrooms, or mobile phone calls. Eventually I get them into the park. “Get running; off you go; your friends are here; there’s Christiana (CA) and Doug (DG); off you go.” Sometimes they need incentives to move towards the centre of the park.

I call out to PP, “here’s a treat, run after it.” The treat is a chocolate-covered Tim Horton’s Donut — PP cannot resist. Gets his attention every time. “Don’t bury it” I call out, “you don’t want it to get dirty.” PP runs straight for it. Sometimes he catches it; most times however he needs help finding it; he also has trouble seeing it; and hearing it as it lands with a gentle thud followed by a short skid. As for smelling it, PP has lifelong nasal congestion—scent is also unhelpful.

As for MP she has found her friend CA who she has not seen for least twelve (12) hours. She and CA are huddled together, almost cowering, near the gate. I nudge them; they are knitting ideas together for our next group social; something about Salsa I overhear. I nuzzle them towards the centre of the dog park. They won’t be enticed by treats; they watch what they eat, obsessively, enjoying their taut and toned bodies. Eating a donut would kill them; group suicide. Eventually, after much encouragement, they drift centre-ward.

Sometimes I need to use a leash, never, however, a buzzer or any kind of electrical device; just the good old fashioned leash, green, black, or purple, always, always offered with a kind invitation, a respectful encouragement, never a command, a negotiation accompanied by a gentle nurturing affirmation. “Oh schwubby dubby, you can do it; I know you can”/ that sort of thing. This all takes a while; quite a while sometimes. By this time, PP is ready to go home, so I offer him another donut. He is appeased, at least for now.

PP has been visiting with DG. DG and Nick connect viscerally and cerebrally. Nick is a five year-old border-collie, who when he is not stubbornly lying down, is  “always on guard for thee,” ready for work or the next adventure, especially where DG is concerned. Nick is intense, the sort of dog you want on the front line of your life. He’s kinda like Lassie on steroids—dependable, watchful, resourceful. Disciplined? Maybe not so much.

DG on the other hand is more laid back. He enjoys the good life of retirement after a career in heavy industry. An electrician by trade he loves making “connections.” He loves “current” affairs, “switching” back and forth between baseball and Canadian politics, “wired” for anything on his best days. Nick finds working with DG challenging sometimes. He finds Christiana easier to manage. Truth be told, he recognizes the North German in those he loves most.

There are others in the dog park each and every morning. More could be said of DN, and LA, and GN, and DE. And of Ruby, Levi,  and Missy. I suspect that by now you can draw your own conclusions around the possibility, even the inevitability of role reversal at the dog park. Next time you are up early, come on down to the most exciting Morningside adventure Summerland has to offer. It’s more than a dog park. It’s a true people park. Woof.