A half a dozen men and women gathered around a bench in the Northeast dog park. The air was crisp and cool with a hint of chimney smoke. The owners wore sweatshirts, fleece jackets and fuzzy hats layered with a fine dust from the dark corners of closets.
In the distance, a couple sat on a covered park bench. The man had his arm around the woman. They both wore dark, hooded jackets and sipped out of steaming styrofoam cups. A slice of setting sun settled on their backs as they leaned in to each other for warmth.
The dogs circled one another, sniffing, prancing and scuffling. A bull dog mix climbed up on the bench next to his owner, a petite woman in her 60s wearing glasses and a black ski cap. Slinking back onto his haunches, the dog’s hind legs stuck up at a sharp angle. A man sitting on the opposite end of the bench pretended to read a newspaper.
Occasionally, another owner would enter the park with dog in tow. The sitting bull dog’s owner chatted with another man about the cool weather. Then she spotted someone she knew heading toward the gate.
“Like, Dale’s dad over there, you can tell he’s from Alaska. A t-shirt! Are you crazy? You can tell you’re from up north. I’m surprised you even wore socks with those sandals.”
The bespeckled woman wore a general look of belonging. The owners formed a semi-circle around her as she commented on their dogs.
“Zeus! Come here, Zeus! … Wow, not even four months and already humping. … Stop it, guys! Geez, I should have worn my earplugs. Go bark somewhere else! … The smaller dogs, they’re always the meanest. It’s like they’re making up for their size. What do you call that?”
“A Napoleon complex,” the t-shirt-laden man retorted.
A man wearing paint-splattered jeans and canvas shoes talked on a cell phone and gazed up into the tree branches with his tired, sun-lined face.
“The economy has everyone up in arms. No one trusts anyone anymore. I just don’t understand it.”
The man wandered off to the other side of the park for privacy. His mini-Australian shepherds with brown and black speckled fur and blue eyes followed close behind.
A man and a woman stood closely, debating the morality of euthanasia.
“Apparently, if your dog destroys another animal, the county of Alachua has the right to destroy your dog. To give out the death sentence. I wasn’t aware of that before … ”
The man looked up, his adam’s apple bobbing violently as he choked on the words.
“This one’s sister cornered an old cat and killed it. … She was just doing what dogs do – chasing cats.”
The woman cast her eyes downward. “Except this time she caught it.”
Suddenly, two men in faded navy uniforms roared by on an ATV, its wheels falling about a foot wider than the paved path parallel to the chain-linked fence. As the men rolled past, the dozen or so dogs formed a tight herd and followed along, barking manically. The men stopped near the entrance and one walked purposefully toward a metal barrel full of tied-off black and blue bags. The other man sauntered toward the gate and began to laugh at the wailing dogs. He spotted a tiny brown Chihuahua wearing a pale pink sweater with sparkling silver stripes – an early Christmas present.
“Oooohh are you tough in your pink sweater?! You’re so tough in your little pink sweater! Aren’t you tough! Ruff! Rrrrruff!”
The pack of dogs began to circle each other frantically, barking angrily at the shouting man. A beagle sat down and bayed while a pit bull mix growled throatily. The Chihuahua’s owner walked hurriedly toward his dog and scooped him up, saving him from the taunting man. His eyes were wide underneath raised eyebrows as he walked back toward the crowd near the bench.
“Well … that was weird,” one woman said.
The uniformed man, still laughing, turned to climb back on the ATV. The dogs continued to howl long after the men were out of sight.
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