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In a perfect world, I'd be a dog.

I'd go to the Doggy Park, and I wouldn't have a care in the world as to whether or not fellow Fidos drove up in a Caddy, a beat up ole Rambler, in a jeweled or spiked collar, or none.

I, the person, walk into any gathering now...tepid, and emphasis on walk.  Doggies, nuh uh.  Ya ever go to a doggy park and observe a new arrival at the gate displaying "Ah.. do I have to?, My mate drug me here."..   Nuh uh.  It's Katy bar the door, "outta my way, I'm here to win friends and influence and/or ignore people."(Dogs, they do that.)

Bits and pieces of this story I've mebbe blogged about before.  Sorry, I know that's 'ruff', but, you're kenneled with it, ha, or, don't let the door hit you in the tail.

I had a 'loaner'.  No, not a rescue.  No, not a foster.  A loaner,  I was dating...ok, living in sin, with another.  She had this wonderful little miniature Schnauzer named Nascar.  (Really though, he had her.) I once, semi jokingly, told said 'another', "If we ever breakup, I get visitation rights to Nascar."  Ha,  happened, and while I haven't done too awful much with Nascar since that split up - I have 'borrowed him' a few times.

Back to 'the perfect world I'd be a dog' - he, Nascar, remembers me.  When I initially see him, he still takes off as if he's hit a triple in the gap, and he's gotta run his damn fastest to make it to third base - back to me. It's akin to a toddling grandbaby holding up his/her arms for you to lift them up.

I ain't gotta dog.  I wish I hada dog.  Where I live, nope, can't have 'em.  Sucks, cause dogs are better neighbors than people.

Scrolling backwards, in preparation for "Trip #1 to Doggy Park", Nascar underwent formal obedience training.  The day came for the first class, we were all prepared - he with his head out the window to suckup the fresh air, we, with our poop-picker-upper bag, and two pockets full of bribery treats.

Seven PM sharp, we were pulled..yes, pulled, into the Community Center Doggy Behave class.  A nine pound dog pulling a 200+ pound (don't ask) man, with 'another' following close behind.  'Another', said lovingly, was guiding the 200+ pound man with "Make him heel, don't let him pull you."  My thought was, "Pull away buddy, Doggygarten hasn't started yet, you're a free mongrel still."

Yip.  Yip pretty much describes small dogs.  That kinda sorta correlates to smaller people.  Ya know folks, all skinny and stuff, that go go go?  Uh huh, me too.  Whereintheheck does that energy come from cause they don't eat enough Kibbles and beef to even stand upright?  Back to yip.

We walk in.  There were 20-some dogs of various sizes, shapes, and they owned people, of various sizes and shapes.  Nascar only knew his own yard and the occasional squirrel that he'd chase up a tree.  He never caught one, but I always wondered what he'd do if he did.

Predictably, yip (aka Nascar) was flipping out, barking, pulling, frothing, excited, heart assuredly beating fitty more times a minute than whatever is a normal miniature Schnauzer heartbeat.  Anticipation was a room full of yip..ROOF (that's "bass" for BIG dog) and a scene from Don's Barking Dogs.

It wasn't that.   It was serene - except for Nascar.  Seated, yes, seated, in a circle, we dogs of all sizes, accompanied by people they own, of all sizes.  Calm.  They just sat there.  They seemingly gave this "Be for real" glance Nascar's way. The hell?  No barks, no yips, no "ROOFS."  The people they owned, equally sedate.  Finally, lady with a British accent (shouldn't every dog trainer 'av a British accent") walks up to us and says "Ahhmm, 'av you been here before?"  Nope.  "Wehl, this is the ahdvanced class.. they are all 'service or suhpport' dogs.. the beginner obedience clahss started at 6pm."  Oh.  Sorry.  Never mind our red faces and yippy dog, we'll be back next week.... at 6. (I butchered translating a British accent, sorry, my first bloody attempt at it.)

We were, did.  Much better this time.  In addition to Nascar, yip, pull, froth, there were dogs of all sizes, accompanied by the people of all sizes they owned, and they too were yipping, pulling, frothing, and several were sniffing, peeing, growling, that stuff.

Nascar flunked the class.  He did wonderful on sit, stay, heel, come.  it was the interpersonal "I can't control myself because I've never seen a full room of dogs and I like you all and I want to walkup and be your friend, NOT ignore you like I'm sposeta."  I was proud of the little dooger, and in my book he was Valedogtorian.

So, with ambition to one day to ger his dogGED, we were off to the doggy park.  Head out window, check.  Plastic poop bag, check.  Pockets full of treats, check,  We pulled in.  With excitement like a junior high schooler attending his first "no parents allowed" dance, Nascar pulled me to the entrance gate.

This is the 'check in', but it more literally is the 'check out' spot for Spot.  We, we humans, we hop on a bus, and it's boring as hell.  If a dog hopped on a bus, all the other dogs would jump up, run to the door to checkout "hi, how ya doin', I'm Tank", "hey, I like you", "Grrr, I don't like you", "Will you be my friend?", "Will you leave me alone?"  Dogs are like that, yeah they are.

After the official entrance into the DoggyMarriott, individualization happened, or didn't.  Some were glued to their friends.  Some friends didn't wanna be glued to - so they would put up with it for awhile, then maybe snap-snarl as if to say "leave me the hell alone,"

I was proud of Nascar.  Whenever a bigass Shepherd, St Bernard, Lab, whatever, would pick on a smaller Yorkie, fellow Schnauzer, or Rat Terrier -Nascar would stand up for his little friend, size be damned and fend off the big oaf.  Fortunately, he eventually went home with all four limbs still intact.

As time passed, dogs, like people, went their own way at the park, or didn't.  Some were inseparable, some didn't stray (ha ha) far from the people they owned.  Some, Poodle properly sipped from the doggy water bowl, some slovenly laid in the mud whilst they slobberly lapped.  Some chased tennis balls, some showed off by catching Frisbies, some, like people, had no interest in doggy sports.

Future CEO's, politicians, sales reps, jumped up on the doggy benches as if to proclaim, "ha, look at me."  Others could give a rats.  After ahwile, many dogs took on the characteristics of teenagers, as in "Come here" and they wouldn't.   The ones that did immediately "come here" to the people they owned, well, it made me wonder howintheheck are they gonna make it one day on their own if their owner was no longer around.  Trust me, i love my God, but I often wonder if He got it backwards, and people should live the short life of a dog, and dogs would be there forever and ever to teach us humans how to make it thru life.

Time to leave.  Winded.  Satiated.  Happy.  Yeah baby, let's do this again happened.  We did, we would.  Eventually, when he heard "Doggy Park?" he knew it was yeah-baby, off to the junior high dance.

This week's local paper announced "Plans for a (2nd) Doggy Park, this one in the North end of town considered."  Northern Liberty is mebbe more affluent than Southern, wonder of the dogs would notice?  Hell to the no, they wouldn't.  Just hop on the bus Gus, we'll sniff, yip, froth, love, follow, chase any race, religion, gender, size, socio-econmic sized doggy there is.

I shoulda been a dog.  Anyone wanna go chase a squirrel?

Love, Dogturd.