At the Dog Park

There is a very large dog park up the street from my newly rented house in Pasadena. My dog, Lucy, has rediscovered her youthful energy there. Not all the time, mind you. She will often follow me, lay herself down on the grass, but mostly dirt, and watch the other dogs chase balls, fight or try to hump each other. Sometimes all three activities at once.

But once in a while she will find a particular dog that catches her attention. An Aussie Shepherd. A very large poodle. Or, as of late, a studly German Shepherd, who one of the others patrons of the park has informed me, has not been fixed. And therefore, I assume emits pheromones which catch the attention of all the females, even my aging Lucy.

Like many dog parks, it is segregated. Not by color or breed, but by size. On the left there are the small dogs. They yap quite a bit. But more interesting, their owners seem much more sociable. They often bring portable foldable lawn chairs and sit in a large circle. On some very genteel looking grass. They also bring wine and crackers and all seem to know each other. They even throw small dog birthday parties for their respective toy dogs, which to me always resemble rats in a dog suit.

On our side of the fence, there is little or no grass. It's more a dirty dusty field where the big dogs, Shepherds, Giant Poodles and Rotties, roam. I'm a big dog person. Always have been. Why own a dog that's a mere 17% bigger than a hamster? Or one that can't hold its own against a kitten? 

If an alien were to visit Earth and more specifically this little corner of East Pasadena beside the Eaton Wash, it would be hard not to notice the difference, in the dogs, yes, but also in the dog owners. (Is it politically correct to use the word owner?)

Big dog people tend to be a little more aloof. I'll chat with the others, especially the ones that admire my anti-Trump T-shirts. But have no plans to split a bottle of Liebfraumilch with them or wear any little K-9 Birthday hats. I may be a little prejudiced but I also think the Big Dog people are more colorful and thus, interesting.

Case in point: I sat on one of the hard cement benches scattered throughout our side and there was an older lady, in a tie-dyed mumu, sitting next to me. She happened to have a beard. A significant patch of white hair dangling from her chin. About 10 feet away there was a one eyed Bassett Hound who was barking. Not at anything, just barking.

This upset the circus woman. She kept telling the hound to "Shush, be quiet." To no avail. She even started inquiring of the people around her, "Is that your dog?" Also to no avail. That's when she took her phone out of her long deep pocket.

She called PPD. And fortunate for me, had it on speakerphone.

"Pasadena Police Department, how can I help you?"

"There's a dog here that won't stop barking."

"What's your address mam?"

"I'm at the Dog Park off Orange Grove"

"...you're at a dog park? And there's a dog barking?"

"Yes, and it's very aggravating."

"It's a dog park, mam."

"Can you send somebody out here?"

"Uhhhh, no. This is not a police matter."

"What should I do?"

"Go to a different park. Or call Animal Control."

And with that the old woman hung up and started dialing. Thankfully it was still on speakerphone.

"Hello, how can I help you today" said the automated voice.

"There's a barking dog that will not stop barking."

"Is this a new claim or an old claim? Please tell me so I can direct your call to the correct Allstate Representative."

If I ever see her, I'm making a beeline for seat next to her again.