Park Personalities

Casey and I go to our local dog park 3-4 times a week. Usually in the evenings after work. He absolutely loves it for the exercise and social interaction with his fellow pawed peers. I like it because of the interesting people that the dogs bring along with them. It's a pretty regular cast of characters, and in spite of them being quite the mish-mash of cultures and lifestyles, I feel connected to them through the unspoken fraternity of dog ownership. Here are some examples of those with whom I spend most of my evenings, in no particular order:

Danny. Danny is one of the few people to whom I've actually introduced myself, and we chat fairly often. He's a pleasant-but-talkative older gentleman that frequently wears suspenders. He likes to reminisce about the old days and I encourage him to do this. Danny belongs to "Sparky," a two-year-old Beagle, who has an uncontrollable urge to hump Casey. This is how Danny and I met. I'm glad Danny doesn't have the same problem. That would've been awkward for me since he's not attractive.

Volvo lady. Right after I got my car, a lady in the parking garage of the lofts where I was renting approached me and asked how I liked it. We chatted for a while about the pros/cons of Volvo ownership and I invited her to sit in it and play with the radio and adjust the seats, etc. Fast-forward three years to the dog park picnic table... "Do you live in the River Market and drive a Volvo?" Long story short, she points down to the parking lot where her silver S60 was just a few spaces down from my silver S60. How quaint. Volvo lady is pretty nice and she's always good for a chat when no one else is around. She belongs to a slightly overweight Border Collie that always has a tattered pink bandana around it's neck. Poor thing. And, um, my car has nicer rims.

Lesbian twins. Now I've never met these two. Truth is, I'm not sure if they're lovers or twins. All I know is that they're hilariously similar. They have matching waist-length brown hair that is always pulled back in pony-tails. I've never inspected closely, but I suspect they also sport matching barrettes. Each have slightly dirty white Keds. They both wear closely matching khaki shorts, rolled tastefully into cuffs at the bottom. Instead of parking in the dirt lot like the rest of us, they drive their BIG-ASS Suburban directly to the bottom of the hill, just feet from the gate. I think they do this because they're lazy they have trouble managing all SIX of their ugly mutts dogs. Casey never plays with them.

Bald guy with no underwear. I'm not sure this guy even HAS a dog. I think he comes with his girlfriend. I wouldn't otherwise even notice him if not for his conspicuous attire.

Vietnam Vet Smoker. This guy is a piece of work. He never speaks--to the humans at least. He wears the same off-white outfit (maybe a uniform?) every day including a beige military-like vest with lots of pockets. He drives an older (but strangely official looking) white minivan with no windows on the sides and lots of intimidating CB-radio antennas. With the same sense of entitlement as the lesbians, he also parks right by the fence. He belongs to a gorgeous White Husky that is the park watch dog. White Husky only interacts with other dogs if there's a fight or a particularly unruly dog in the park--and let me tell you, no one can make other dogs behave like he can. For this, White Husky has earned my respect and admiration. I have no doubt that this skill set came only after years of intense training from the Vietnam Vet Smoker. I extend this respect to Vietnam Vet Smoker as well, because I suspect that if I got unruly, he'd put me in a head-lock and growl at me just like White Husky does.

Gay Couple. I only recently started chit-chatting with them, but they seem nice. I mention them not because they're gay, but because they belong to Katie, the Boxer mix, who is Casey's favorite wrestling/chasing/romping buddy.

Beat-up 1967 Chevy truck guy. Beat up truck guy belongs to Dutch, the Chocolate Lab. Dutch is a fantastic frisbee catcher. His baseball playing, backward hat-wearing owner with very nice teeth is a fantastic frisbee thrower. And while Casey never really plays with Dutch, I admit to shamelessly flirting talking a lot with his owner, in spite of his choice in automobiles.

Hot straight guy. I haven't yet met this guy. He's new. But I can't keep my eyes off his ass dog. It's obviously a pure-bred and in great shape. Maybe one day I'll say "Hi," but only if he stops wearing pooka-shell necklaces.

The Whiner. The Whiner has two dogs, a Chihuahua named Tanner and a tiny little fluffy thing named Morgan. Tanner and Morgan are yappers. They bark incessantly at a randomly selected dog each time they're at the park. Thankfully, Casey has not yet been the target of this freakish behavior. The Whiner is compelled to try to stop the barking (which is admirable), but she does it by wandering around the park with a nasally, high-pitched Midwest accent saying "Taaaaaner--no barking! Taaaaaner--no barking." Honestly, I'd rather hear my own flesh being seared by a hot iron. I have mixed emotions about this young lady. We've chatted several times and she's actually pretty nice. But if she doesn't shut those goddamn little rats up get them under control, I'm going to kick them both through the nearest goal post complain.

Fat lady that doesn't pick up poop. This woman needs no further comment, really. Just know that one day, when I accidentally step in her dog's shit, she's going to be scrubbing fecal matter from her hair for weeks.

Smart dirty rock star guy. Dirty rock star belongs to a gorgeous Weimaraner whose name I forget Sorin and Marco the recently-rescued mutt. I like this guy. I've been in a couple of group chats at the picnic table with him and he's an interesting fella. He's obviously bright, well-read and an appears to be a responsible dog owner. But he is always wearing the rock star grunge outfit of black (dirty) Converse high-tops, black (dirty) jeans that are held up only by the waistband of his visible boxers, a thick silver chain connected to his wallet (and god knows what else), and a T-shirt that's 20 years old and two sizes too small. Oh, and the T-shirt is also dirty. And so is his hair. But I think he really is in a band, which makes it all OK.

And then there's how I think I might be described in someone else's blog.

Casey's Dad. Casey is a very popular dog, primarily because he's cute and sociable. And, well, he likes to jump up on the table and give kisses. Casey's Dad seems like a pretty nice guy, too. After all, he picks up his poop (and Casey's too). Every time he comes to the park, he fills 3-4 of the one-gallon water jugs from the fountain at the bottom of the hill. This is nice because we lazy-ass freeloaders think that these water jugs fill themselves. Casey's Dad is not particularly talkative. He usually walks around by himself or reads a book against the fence (doesn't he know dogs PEE there?). He has his hands in his pockets a lot, especially when he talks to Dutch's owner. This one time when he was wearing flip-flops, he busted his ass while walking down the hill to the gate. We all laughed, but not out loud because Casey's Dad is kind of big and mean-looking. One time he was very cross with my friend Bertha about not picking up her dog's poop. Please, like anyone really does that. All in all, we like him because of Casey. Casey is definitely cute, and really PlaysWellWithOthers. He's not, however, a very good hunting dog, as evidenced by this week's Park Pic of the Month:



P.S. That's not really Casey. hehe