In a park the dogs are playing – rough-housing, wrestling, chasing and nipping. They’re rehearsing for the real thing – the fight – and so they’re programmed to enjoy the battle so that they can hone their skills. The reality as domesticated animals is that they will most likely never have to use them. They have the luxury of play for no other reason than that. It’s the same for the humans running on the nearby trail, they’re keeping themselves healthy, they’ll never have to run for their lives.
Competition and comparison are everywhere – the cars, the clothes, the jobs, the vacation destinations and the schools and colleges the children attend and have graduated from. It’s obvious to everyone. Everyone, except for the dogs.
In the morning it’s the white, retired crew. Sure they have their troubles, their aches and pains, the shit that life throws at everyone, but they have tools to deal with these things – connections, health insurance, finances to pay for professional advice, parents and siblings who will support them.
At random times of the day there are random people. They might be weekenders, off their usual schedule, or locals stopping by between errands. Occasionally there’s someone from out of town, a temporary visitor with work or relatives nearby. On the warmer days, the aging artist, health failing due to AIDS, walks unsteadily to the chairs, leaning on a stick and hoping that the retired city-slicker with the dog who’s Italian breed name is too fancy for anyone to remember will be there so that they can taunt each other with that biting humor gay men do best.
Sometimes you can place someone immediately – the woman who strides in wearing jodhpurs, fresh from the barn and the couple who in the summer months jaunt up in their vintage open-top car, golf clubs poking out of the tiny back seat. There are many ways to segregate – race, dog breed, mutt or purebred, levels of dog parenting, easy-going or helicopter, public and private schools. Dogs are the great equalizer. They run, play, roll, pee and poop with no regard for the status of the humans around them, they’re only concerned if they perceive them as a threat or a likely provider of a belly rub.
Late in the afternoon (when all the others are going home to their spouses, driving their kids to ballet, preparing food for dinner) a whole other segment of society appears. These are the people who have fallen through the cracks, for one reason or another aren’t playing the game of life the way most people do, and so here they are forging their own way with limited resources. They’re lacking – it might be money, connections, family, sanity, social skills – or a mix of any of them. Instantly recognisable, their car is often on its last legs, or shows the sign of collisions and they are unkempt and walk with a gait. Their dogs are not an addition to the white-pickett-fence family, they are their sole companions, a lifeline.
One regular, hair awkwardly cut at right angles (she probably does it herself) always arrives with a giant Dunkin Donuts cup under her arm and a cigarette hanging out the side of her mouth. Her mother died recently and now she’s in a court battle with her brothers over the will. She says their negligent behavior killed her mother, much of what she mutters is difficult to make out due to her slurred speech. She used to drink a lot in the day, she says, but not any more. She can’t afford a lawyer, but she’s going to keep fighting as long as she can. One time I asked about her children, she said that her son was killed in the army and her daughter she hasn’t spoken to in five years.
There’s the man in his twenties who always causes a stir when he brings his giant poodle. He rants incoherently and doesn’t let the dog off the leash. They only stay a few minutes at a time. One of the park regulars explained once that as a young teenager he was in a car crash caused by his alcoholic father. By some miracle he came out of it alive but with half of his brain exposed. Now he’s an alcoholic himself and has taken on his father’s role as the local drink-driver.
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One of the misfits is there at any time of the day, sometimes twice a day. She’s controversial – gets into fights with some owners, chats amicably with others. She protects her dog fiercely, not allowing her to play freely for fear of injury and vet bills. The dog is beautiful, athletic and confident. She catches the ball several feet high in the air. She’s social and lovable – everything her owner isn’t. Scared and paranoid, her human hides it all beneath a fierce, clumsy persona, wild eyes, trusting no one. It’s hard to know what her real story is. She isn’t forthcoming with details about her life but she has a habit of repeating thoughts and talking in the same circles, desperate to confirm her narrative threads. Once the aging artist made a joke about her giving off “witch vibes” but she didn’t see the funny side of it, wrote him an angry email and after that he left the park every time he saw her coming.
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She hadn’t been to the park in a few days. A couple of Regulars went to check on her. Her dog, frantic, ran out the door and in crazy circles in the front yard. They found the body in the hallway. She must have collapsed and died, one of the cops said. A sudden medical event – heart-related would be my guess said the other.
Then the first cop gasped, told the Regulars to step back, to look away.
“What is it?” The sweet-border-collie owner asked.
“Significant trauma to the left cheek,” he was speaking into his radio. The cops turned and ushered the Regulars out the front door, telling them to take the dog for a walk while they took care of the situation.
As the Regulars walked away, the dog happily wagging her tail, relieved to finally be out of the house, the cops exchanged words under their breath.
“It’s the dog. I’ve heard of cases like this. They’re not sure why they do it, maybe they start by trying to wake the owner, nudging, licking, but then it turns to biting. Heard about a case out West where two dogs lived off the owner for several months before they were found.”
“Still, makes me wanna hurl. Doesn’t seem right.”
The dog looked up at the human holding her leash, eyes steady and pure. The human felt a rush of affection and bent down to rub her neck. She leant into him and they paused there, under the tree, lit only by the intermittent flashing lights of an emergency vehicle that was pulling up the driveway behind them.