Friday, March 21, 2014

Poor old Dennis

As Spring Break draws to a close, the beautiful weather has gotten "beautifuller". Tempting as it is to let the boy play his new Legos Avengers video game, we chose to take the dog to the dog park. The first trip came and went without much excitement. Based on the mass exodus of pets and owners upon the arrival of two dock-eared intimidators, we got out of there as quickly as we could. They were mounting everything that wasn't attached to the ground and desperately trying to show their very unneutered dominance. The boy started asking questions, but luckily the dog was barking loud enough that he soon lost interest in trying to carry on a conversation. As we were leaving, we saw several high school ball players arriving, so we decided to go home, hydrate, pack a picnic dinner and go back for the baseball game for a bit before soccer practice. A flurry of excitement and activity ensued before we left, but they were excited for the change in the norm and the possibility of viewing a sporting event of any kind. Copper is always up for a trip to the dog park. She is a super fan of that place. I have learned that some growling, barking and teeth showing is part of the whole canine play process, but my children are freaked out about it. When we entered the park for trip number two, not a dog to be found. Okay, just let her sniff and run. It is all good. Then a very talkative, very super New York lady came with her dog...Dennis. Poor ole' Dennis. She stood and told us exactly every dynamic of the dog park and how it worked. She compared the dogs play biting each other with their gums like "your grandpa gumming his corn on the cob with the few teeth he has left". The kids looked at each other puzzled since both of their grandfathers have their teeth in tact for effectively eating corn on the cob. Another dog, Tiger the German Shepherd, came in for a visit. He had been injured at the dog park several weeks ago with a sprain, so Dennis's mother made it clear that she would communicate to Dennis that he needed to lay off Tiger's right front leg. Communicate? Really? Every time those two guys got to playing with each other, mom of Dennis kept yelling, in her best not so nasal Fran Drescher, "Dennis? BOO BOO!!! Dennis? BOO BOO!!!". Apparently that is how she communicated to him the other dog was hurt. My children retreated to seperate corners of the park, trying with little success to not laugh at poor Dennis and his situation. After a while, I could take no more and we retreated to the ball game. We could still hear, "Dennis? BOO BOO!!" from quite a distance away. Poor old Dennis.


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