Everything's A Dog Park

Dog parks are fascinating. Little plots of abandoned real estate lined by a fence all thanks to yours truly, the taxpayer. In theory, they sound like a great idea, but Dirt is not a big fan, and neither is his dad. To a herding dog like Dirt, anything deemed as un-organized is chaotic and overwhelming, and a dog park is pretty much nothing more than a designated place for unorganized canine chaos.

It wasn’t long before Dirt and I got sick of the doodlers being all up in our business and we decided to find other places to exercise. Without giving away all our secrets, public schools tend to have some of the best-kept soccer and baseball fields around, not to mention phenomenal jungle gyms.

The result of making everything a dog park meant we would go everywhere together. Restaurants, stores, gyms, ball games, hikes, parties, airplanes, you name it. Dirt is a classified working K9: a service animal, farm property, an emotional support dog, a suburban house dog and of course his self-proclaimed title of “Head of Security.” Whatever he needs to be, he is.

Funny looks are fairly common, especially when he comes out of the dressing room with me in Dillards or he’s jumping on all the sofas in Ikea, but shouldn’t he test out the sofa too since he will be using it more? We’ve even had a security guard stop and ask, “Is that dog supposed to be in here?” I always give Dirt the “speak” command, and one high-pitched bark usually ends the conversation. Dirt is even allowed behind the counter at the bank. Problem is, he always takes a treat and not the money. “You never steal from the hand that feeds you,” he told me, “I ain’t gonna ruin my lifetime supply of treats for a short-term bounty of a few greenbacks.” Take a man fishing; show a man how to fish, I guess.

Dogs are incredibly disarming. One minute someone tells you to leave, the next minute they’re asking if they know any tricks. Something we’ve learned through all our years of trespassing is people are mostly good, and particularly good to dogs. (We have a name for people who are naturally mean to dogs—they’re called psychopaths.)

I’m convinced God loves dogs too. I know this because dog is God spelled backwards. Almost as if God views us through our dogs’ eyes. The similarities are a tad creepy when you get down to it. They come in all different shapes and sizes. They perform all kinds of different jobs and services. They protect us. They comfort us. They give eyes to the blind and ears to the deaf. They don’t judge and can’t tell a lie and they only have a fraction of the time on earth as we do. But Dirt’s ego certainly doesn’t need this type of boost, so let’s keep this a secret, for now.