Bryn and I went to one of our favorite off-leash dog parks, so she could run free and frolic with other canines. For fifteen minutes she had a fine time sniffing everyone and playing keepaway with a couple of other cheerful dogs. Torn tennis balls and raggedy sticks were tossed and fetched. Everyone was relaxed and in chat mode.
But then, I felt a frisson of electricity, the sensation one gets when someone is watching covertly- that back-of-the-neck prickle of unease. Outside the long fenced-in park a man in his mid-twenties walked toward our group, allowing his leashed pit bull to pull him forward. (I felt that the dog, not his master, was ‘alpha’ in that relationship.) Before entering the gate the handsome, well-muscled animal stopped and stared at the interacting dogs inside.
This was unusual behavior.
Let me say that vast majority of pit bulls who visit these dog parks are delightful: they love to frolic around and dash after balls, and they’re obedient and quite lovable. Most are adopted, and settle into their new, lucky lives very well. This pit bull, however, was different. It walked stiffly toward the park gate, then stopped to study all of us with small, intense eyes that never seemed to blink. Its tail was down, and still. It looked battle-hardened- and angry.
Over the years I’ve developed an ability to sense the peculiar energy of this sort of menace, even from a fair distance.“Uh-oh,” I muttered to the guy next to me. “That pit bull coming toward the park-do you recognize it?” He wasn’t sure, but I thought I’d seen it before. I’d be surprised if trouble didn’t manifest itself today. My best course of action was to gather Bryn and leave. I said as much to the man sitting next to me. He made no comment, but became more attentive.
The owner clearly cared for it, and wanted things to go well. But the way he moved, and held the leash, telegraphed his uncertainty. He debated with himself as to whether it was wise to release the dog into our small gathering. Oh, boy. In my opinion that pit needed an Alpha Male who was firm, and unquestionably dominant- a man who would set down reasonable rules for the pit to learn, respect and follow, every single time. It wasn’t happening here. After a long pause its owner moved it inside the park, but didn’t remove the leash. Three or four canines rushed over to perform the usual ritual greetings and inspections, and then went back to their play.
The owner trailed his pet as it moved from dog to dog, sniffing. My ‘trouble’ radar wouldn’t stop pinging. But before I could gather Bryn and my stuff and leave, the man decided to take the chance. He removed the leash.
Things went downhill one minute later.
The pit bull ran among three playful dogs, grabbed the yearling black lab by its neck as it played, and snarled as it held the pup down. The upset owner tried to break its grip, without success. He needed the help of another man sitting nearby. Released, the terrified puppy ki-yied in pain, over and over, as it bumbled away. Too angry to trust myself not to yell at the owner, Bryn and I made a quick exit, with the raised voices of other unnerved owners blurring in the background. The puppy’s cries were heartrending; I hoped it wasn’t seriously hurt.
This shouldn’t have happened.
The owner had felt deeply unsure; how was it possible to misinterpret his dog’s tension and intensity? He had to have known that things might rapidly spiral out of control. Why else would he hover, and act so nervous?
Some dogs will never learn to mingle. They want only to dominate.
That yearling puppy would never again enter the park with the same confidence. What a shame!
Incidents like this one are rare.
When Bryn became part of our family we discovered dog parks, which have added immeasurably to her- and our- quality of life. They’re great places for leash-free dogs to enjoy, and are kept mostly clean by responsible owners, who often have inspiring stories to tell about their how they acquired their pets. But every once in a while...
Bryn has also become adept at identifying and avoiding potentially aggressive dogs. Never making eye contact she’ll move off in a non-threatening way to lap water, or sit next to me. Or, we’ll quietly leave by another, less used, gate. All the way home, though, she’ll mope. Park visits are a highlight of her day and it’s a wrench when we quickly ‘up sticks’ and leave. Past experience, though, is a good teacher. Bryn experienced attacks when a puppy that she still hasn’t forgotten, but certainly learned from.
So we’ll drive home; I’ll dash into the house, don my swimsuit, grab a towel, and drive us the few blocks to Lake Michigan. We’ll jump in. I’ll toss her floating bone well out into the water, over and over, and we’ll both swim vigorously toward it. She’ll yip and howl as she paddles hard to retrieve her prize. She always ‘wins.’ These little triumphs delight us both.
It’s the perfect way to shed frustration, sadness and anger. We just dump all our negative energy into that deliciously fresh, cool water, there to float off and gradually dissolve into the great scheme of things...