What’s In a Name?
Dog owners at the dog park are like parents of children at the playground—they join in conversation with strangers about whom they know nothing, drawn by the universal consistencies of pet ownership/child rearing. And, like parents, we are known by our dogs, rather than ourselves. If any of the dog park denizens spot me at the grocery store they will not, any one of them, say, “Hey, there’s Lisa!” They might, however, be heard to say, “Hey, there’s Rigby’s and Penny’s mom!”
I, similarly, cannot lay a name to even one of those nice people with whom I share conversation while our dogs sniff butts, share slobber, and wrestle in the mud (gosh, it almost sounds X-rated, doesn’t it?). I know which man is Giselle’s dad (she is a German Shorthair Pointer) and which lady belongs to Huey (a 10-year-old Bassett Hound), but their actual names elude me. Somewhere out there is a psychologist who could write an entire thesis on this, but you know, I’d never remember his name.
I’m not sure of the significance of this whole remember-the-dog, forget-the-owner thing. I think it has to do with the carefree air that permeates the dog park; everyone is having a stress free moment, so why ruin it with names and job titles? It may also have something to do with being an old bagger with a bad memory, but this is my blog so it is okay for me to be in denial about that. Acceptable, even.
So I’m not old, I just like to spend time talking and laughing with kindred spirits who understand the joy to be found in a beloved dog’s wagging tail and lolling tongue. After all, as Shakespeare might say, a dog lover by any other name would still carry liver treats in his pocket.
Til next time –