It’s not easy making a dignified entry into a dog park. The greeting committee rushes over and crowds around, sniffing and squealing, even before you get unleashed. Once I inch my way in, and Mom or Dad shuts the gate behind us, the dancing begins. . . nose to butt, around in circles. The park we go to most often is just for short dogs like me, so anyone who’s interested can check anyone’s i.d. fairly easily. But, even so, I’m always glad when the welcoming is over and I can run off on my own and take care of business (if ya know what I mean.)
Usually the coolest dudes end up just hanging out over in the corner under a mesquite tree, holding their own little pee-party. Once in awhile I join them, but I tell ya. . . the talk over there gets pretty ruff. Especially if politics come up. I’m not up on the local issues, and I don’t care much about who wants to be president (even though I’ll vote for Bo if he ever decides to run.) But some of those pooches at the park aren’t shy about barking their opinions.
There’s always talk about the various snarlshows on TV. Some fast-barking bitch named Rachel Maddog is a favorite, but whenever her name comes up, a funny-looking dog named Billy (or maybe it’s Bully) curls his upper lip and bares his teeth. It’d be scary if you could actually see his teeth, but his pushed-in snout makes it hard. He’s obviously a Repuglican. He got all hot under the collar the other night and actually attacked another dog who was apparently barking up the wrong tree as far as Bully—I mean Billy—was concerned. He was going for the juggler by the time his human came over and pulled him off. He probably gets most of his news from the stuff the foxes show on their channel. And I bet he poops on the New York Times every chance he gets.
Even though all the dogs I’ve met are actually brown, black, gray, white or some mix of those colors (like me), there’s a lot of wagging— both tongues & tails— about who’s red and who’s blue. I don’t get it, except I have learned that blue dogs are of the opinion that democats can be lived with, as long as you keep an eye on ‘em. I’ve learned the hard way that keeping an eye on cats is always a good idea, but I don’t think I could ever really trust them. One thing I know for sure is that I don’t like that guy named John McCanine. And I’m so glad I’m not Mutt Romney’s dog! No bones about it. I much prefer riding on Mom’s lap when we’re in the car, instead of on the roof!
Politics aside, I’ve met some nice Tucson dogs who love to race in circles and play the way I do, including Scout, Spooner, Ricky, and Bella. We can put on quite the dog-&-pony show for our humans— even though no ponies are allowed inside the fence with us. Last night, I met the cutest little girl named Bugsy. She loved playing with me. She’s only as tall as my belly, so I tried to be gentle— even though she really made my tail wag. Her Mom said she’s a “mix” of Chihuahua and Jack Russell. I did notice that she barked with a slight Spanish accent and she had whiskers on her chin like other Jacks I’ve met. But the truth is it makes no difference to me what mix someone is. We all step into our harnesses one leg at a time.
After six or seven visits, I think I’m finally starting to be considered a regular at this park. It’s nice when I sniff my previous p-mail comments and find that others have responded with their own posts. I’ve started to join the greeters as new dogs arrive. In the time I have left, maybe I can make a difference. Maybe I can help everyone there to stop yapping about politics and just play ball. Dad says a wise president named Hairy Truman liked dogs a lot. (Always a sign of a good human.) Mr. Truman used to say “If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.” He must have lived in Washington like we do, but I say that dogs are good friends to have no matter what state you’re in— including Arizona.
So there—that’s my post on Mom’s blog for this trip. Let me know what you think! Now I’m off for my afternoon trip to the park!