Life With Dogs
Life with dogs is often rife with odd little moments. Tonight I decided to bail on my usual yoga class to take my dogs out for a brisk walk at the lake – in spite of torrential rain all day and possibly more on the way. Zoe is a dog who will actually stand at the back door holding her feet up pathetically in the rain, as if to say, “They’re wet, I’m MELTING!” but if you put a leash on her there is NO day too wet to go out! They are going to spend more time than usual alone this week so it seemed only fair to give them some extra attention, plus I was feeling a serious need for some outside-time myself.
I like taking the dogs to the lake because there usually aren’t many other dogs around. Sometimes there aren’t many other people, and those that are around tend to be doing their own thing (fishing, grilling out, smoking while staring, lake stuff) so I can put on my headphones – or not – and just be with the dogs. This is also important because Zoe is not a fan of most other dogs – especially other female dogs.
Recently we tried to take her to a party where there were other dogs, all of them were socialized and well behaved and we thought maybe Zoe would chill out. Nope. Instead she ramped up her game, screaming (not just barking – SCREAMING) every time one of the other dogs came into sight and lunging on her lead – a new behavior we are really trying to nip in the bud. It wasn’t fun. For anyone.
So I was relishing the overcast day, the wet ground, the solitude of a rain threat on a Monday afternoon. The dogs were extremely happy, rain makes all the smells go up to eleven, and we were just enjoying time together like I was hoping we would.
We came around a corner and out of a wooded section of the path there was suddenly a young man with a big dog, barely under control. Without missing a beat I sucked in my breath and turned fast on my heel to walk the dogs the other direction. I was practically dragging little Rex (who LOVES other dogs and desperately wanted to go make friends) and Zoe was revving up her whine in order to start screaming. I started quick-walking them and I heard the young man struggling with his dog, telling the dog to, “sit…Sit!...SIT!” so I looked over my shoulder to make sure we didn’t have a loose dog on our butts.
At that moment the young man looked up and said, “I’m sorry!” and I felt like an asshole. I said, “Oh, no, we just didn’t see you coming and she’s dog aggressive!” and I kept walking fast back the way I had come from.
After a little distance was gained (I could still hear the man struggling with his dog, who REALLY wanted to meet my dogs) I realized he may not have heard me. Or understood what I said since I was at some distance and walking fast while talking over my shoulder. And the man was also brown which made me suddenly seriously fretful that he thought I was somehow scared of HIM.
I stopped in my tracks, horrified. Did the man say he was sorry because of his dog or did he somehow feel like he had scared me? Did my reaction appear to be horror that a brown person had manifested out of the woods? Did he understand that it wasn’t him at all but MY dog, that I didn’t want MY dog to hurt or scare him or his dog?
This troubled me the entire way back to the car. On my way out of the park I looked for the man, wondering if it would be better to just leave well enough alone or if stopping, getting out (while Zoe screamed in the car, no doubt), and explaining myself would somehow undo any weird energy I had created in his day. I saw him, sitting at a picnic table staring intently at his phone, and I’m going to admit that I was too flustered to stop. I couldn’t figure out the right approach, I couldn’t suss out the answer to make it better and not weirder.
So now I’m writing and replaying the moment over and over in my head, worried that I made his day unpleasant without meaning to. Behind me, Zoe sleeps a deep and dreamless sleep.
