Within a month, Tua had chosen a small group of favourite playmates. Cooper, a ten-month-old black lab puppy, twice her size, became her favourite. Ella, a small short-haired, blonde dog the same age as, and frequent companion of, Cooper, was inducted into the group. Finally, Remy, a beautiful three-year-old red doodle, who looked like an Irish setter, completed the circle.
As our dogs played, we owners were drawn together by watching them. Although Tua is small, she is formidable; she loves to run and chase. Marsha, Cooper’s master, wanted to be sure he didn’t hurt her. Ella’s human, Roberta, was always nervous about a group of dogs growling, even in play. And Jill’s dog, Remy, was the gentle, elder statesman of the group. Attracted by little Tua’s pluck, Jill always encouraged Remy to play with her.
As the weeks went by, I fell into a pattern of daily morning visits and frequently, an additional daily afternoon visit. My feisty, teddy bear look-alike, Tua, charmed all the dog owners. Her appearance resembles Fawzi Bear but unlike Fawzi, she is assertive and nearly maniacal in the way she invites the attention of her playmates. She never tires and remains persistent in her invitations to play.
As Jill, Marsha, Roberta and I began meeting regularly at the park, our conversations were initially superficial: your name, your dog’s name, age and length of time you’ve had your pet, etc. As we grew more comfortable with each other, we began sharing stories of beloved, but now departed, dogs: the heartaches and joy associated with bringing a dog into your life and home; and the compromises we make in our lives to ensure their happiness. The love they expressed for their pets was overwhelming. I felt it, and feel it in myself too. Tua is the first dog I’ve ever raised and I’m consumed by the love I feel for her.
An unintended, but delightful, consequence of gathering together to watch our dogs play has been the friendship that’s developed between the four of us. Tua now has three adoptive mothers: they too watch out for her as she plays. Each of us cares about, and for, the others’ dogs. It delights me to see Marsha reach out to touch and say “hi Tua” and to see Jill greet Tua by finding and giving her a stick. “Remy, go see what Tua’s got. Go get her Remy.”
Marsha, a long-time dog park attendee, is quick to identify aggressive dogs that Tua should stay away from. I appreciate her guidance so much. Jill is the human who wears a white coat to the dog park and never gets dirty. She is kind, generous and cares about all our dogs, not just Remy. Roberta is nervous about German shepherds, so when one arrives, Jill, Marsha and I try to run interference for her: we help keep that dog away from Ella.
These new friends have taught me the unwritten rules of the dog park. Humans should not bring treats into the park as dogs, with their keen senses of smell, will run toward the source. That human then becomes the Pied Piper to a parade of dogs all jockeying for the best position from which to access a treat, a recipe for conflict. Similarly, a dog owner should not bring a toy along assuming that only her dog will play with it. I broke both rules initially, and was grateful to be gently re-instructed by my friends.
So, after three months of daily dog park visits, both Tua and I have benefitted greatly. She’s become a confident, more mature puppy who can fend for herself, play well with other dogs, set limits to play and successfully choose playmates for herself. I’ve learned to be a competent, courteous dog owner. But the most joyous reward for me has been my membership in a community of dog lovers who share an unconditional love and respect for their dogs.
