Three times this week we have crossed paths with The Shepherds, who have now added a giant, black, dusty-looking and slightly mangy poodle to their four-legged menagerie of terror. The only other poodle I've ever encountered bit me, not once, but twice on the same hand on the same day exactly one year apart so although I admire their dedication to book-ending their aggressiveness, I can't say I'm fond of poodles as a breed.
When Duncan and I cleared The Mound today their beat up Blazer pulled into the corner-spot in the lot right in front of us. I'd barely had time to register what was happening when the doors were flung open before the engine had quite idled down, and the three big dogs leapt out directly in front of us. I grabbed Dunc's leash and pulled him away as their people struggled to get their leashes on. We strolled down to the tall grass that rings the big willow––prime sniffing and exploring land for my boy––and milled around a bit while The Shepherds ran over the grass, squatting and pooping with abandon, their companions casting dirty looks over their shoulders in our direction, the mere fact of our presence an annoyance and complication to their evening. Eventually they trotted away, leashless and crazy, running circles around each other, galloping across the soccer field in that menacing fashion I've come to recognize even in the dark and from great distances. As we followed safely behind I kept my eyes on the dogs while Duncan kept his nose to the grass, frantically sniffing out each spot the dogs had marked in their carefree and wreckless romp. It brought me immense joy to see him lift his leg and erase, with one quick spritz, the work they'd done only three minutes prior to our passing. He kept it up the entire time we walked, up across the hill at the skate park, through the picnic shelters and the big playground, and down along the edge of the lake to the prairie dog town, and although I hadn't planned on being out so long, drained as I was from another long day at the bookstore, Duncan's dedication was delightful and as wickedly passive-aggressive as anything I could've cooked up myself. Like papa like son.
When Duncan and I cleared The Mound today their beat up Blazer pulled into the corner-spot in the lot right in front of us. I'd barely had time to register what was happening when the doors were flung open before the engine had quite idled down, and the three big dogs leapt out directly in front of us. I grabbed Dunc's leash and pulled him away as their people struggled to get their leashes on. We strolled down to the tall grass that rings the big willow––prime sniffing and exploring land for my boy––and milled around a bit while The Shepherds ran over the grass, squatting and pooping with abandon, their companions casting dirty looks over their shoulders in our direction, the mere fact of our presence an annoyance and complication to their evening. Eventually they trotted away, leashless and crazy, running circles around each other, galloping across the soccer field in that menacing fashion I've come to recognize even in the dark and from great distances. As we followed safely behind I kept my eyes on the dogs while Duncan kept his nose to the grass, frantically sniffing out each spot the dogs had marked in their carefree and wreckless romp. It brought me immense joy to see him lift his leg and erase, with one quick spritz, the work they'd done only three minutes prior to our passing. He kept it up the entire time we walked, up across the hill at the skate park, through the picnic shelters and the big playground, and down along the edge of the lake to the prairie dog town, and although I hadn't planned on being out so long, drained as I was from another long day at the bookstore, Duncan's dedication was delightful and as wickedly passive-aggressive as anything I could've cooked up myself. Like papa like son.
4 comments:
You should've marked the spots, too! C'mon, it'd have been fun! (And mark their vehicle, and their shoes if possible.)
Oh, Curt, I can totally relate to this post! We have a group like this in our neighborhood, but they are Huskies instead of Shepards. Four giant beasts, who take over the dog park when they swarm down on it, intimidate others to leave, and generally think they own the place. Their owners rejoice in their wreckless abandon, and do nothing to control their wild behavior. These are the same people that stroll along our streets, with never a poop bag in tow, and allow their beasts to poop and pee on any of the yards they choose. They continue along as if it is there right to let their dogs destroy others property. It's disgusting...and to top it off, the four beasts are owned by a police officer and his wife. You'd think that they would know better, right? Apparently not...It's amazing what the threat of a restraining order can do though...
That's my good boys. It's best if Duncan do the peeing,less offensive if people are around.
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