People with dogs in the family lead fairly regular lives. Even more than the need to get to work and school on time, to show up at medical appointments, and get dinner underway at a decent hour, we are governed by the routines of pet bladders and bowels. Even the most securely house-trained pup can only be asked to hold it so long.
First Things First
someone’s sunflowers in the morning
Ping, for instance, starts nudging me for attention as soon as the alarm goes off at six. She doesn’t require the alarm, of course–because she knows when it is six on Saturdays and Sundays as well–but I do and I am accustomed to a bit of a lay-in-bed listening to Morning Edition. So I rise, shower, dress and make my bed, settle the kettle on to boil, and watch Ping explode with excitement as I reach for the leash and house keys. We like a goodly walk in the post-dawn cool. A pee and a poop, and a bit of exercise. Then it is home to our breakfasts, a pot of tea, and The Boston Globe.
A Bit Past High Noon
Brophy Park
Brophy Park, a mob scene before life gets underway for most, is sociability itself after dinner. Everyone is there to do their business but no one is in a hurry to get home. Midday is the quiet of the day, and so it was yesterday.
Ping and I went for our usual noontime stretch, not planning much as Boston hasn’t yet quite quit the summer heat. We planned a short circuit: an amble across the park, down Ruth Street, really sort of a widely accessible driveway toward the Golden Stairs Terrace Park and the Albert “Junior” Lombardi Memorial Garden. Lovely spot overlooking the Boston Harbor. Perfect for viewing fireworks or enjoying a quiet read in the evening breeze. From thence we pick up Brigham Street and emerge back on Webster Street next to the Samuel Adams Elementary School, a few doors from the other side of Brophy Park.
Introductions
pink whales on blue leash
As we arrived at the Terrace Park, there was a fellow there with his off-leash dog. Off-leash dogs require caution. She was a nice girl, dark brown, smooth-coat, with probably a few labs or pointers in the family tree. She came over for an inquiring sniff. I stood and waited as her male human was calling her back and simultaneously telling me that his dog was gentle or he “wouldn’t have let her off leash.”
Yeah. Like anyone trusts such an assertion. She seemed a nice girl, though. Human, on the other hand, seemed ready to blow a gasket when she didn’t return instantly. He came up and grabbed her, yanked at her collar—embroidered with pink whales on a navy ground—and called her a “piece of shit.” Yikes! The human—and I use the term advisedly—hauled her toward Brigham Street.
Ping and I stayed put until they disappeared around the corner. That was our route home and we really didn’t want to encounter them again.
Next Morning
That evening, as we returned to Brophy Park en route to the Harborwalk, I shared this anecdote with a few dog parents. They were shocked. No one recognized the dog, whose name I thought her name was “Teddy.” No one remembered a preppy leash and collar with cetacean decoration.
The guy had looked 30-ish to me and not the kind of person likely to have bought that style collar with matching leash for his dog. Maybe, I wondered, it wasn’t his dog. Maybe there is a wife or girlfriend in this picture and Teddy is her dog. The things looks a little, you will pardon the expression, girly, and the dog is female. Maybe he simply hates walking the dog. Even worse, maybe he hates his partner having a dog at all.
A Second First Impression
These thoughts were on my mind as we started out the next day. Ping had peed promptly, like the little Swiss watch she is, and we turned at the corner to go down Webster. Who did we encounter but a very pretty dark-haired woman walking Teddy.
“Teddy!” I exclaimed.
Ping down at the Harborwalk
I had misheard; it turns out that the dog’s name is “Penny.” But her son is named Teddy. How funny, that was, as I have a sister named Penny. Laughs all around. I mentioned that Penny and Ping had met the previous day and we let them have a moment to get reacquainted.
Oh, she said, what kind of dog is that? Mostly Shih Tsu, I responded as the cheek swab is back. She stooped and gave a pat. She had had a Shih Tsu for years and had just loved that dog; she still misses it. I bet she does. She is clearly a wonderful dog mom.
We said goodbye and wished each other a pleasant day.
Neighbors Get Familiar
Ping and I headed back out at lunchtime only to find that the Dubious Human had returned with Penny as well. We immediately went around yesterday’s block to give them time to do whatever Penny needed to do. It was enough time for Penny, possibly not enough for him. “Hey, Penny,” I said as we passed. And to the Dubious Human, “Meeting twice in two days.”
He didn’t look at me, huffed by, and snarled something like “yeah” or “whatever,” and walked down Webster.
Yeah. The guy is an asshole. A lovely wife, a son, and a sweet-tempered dog live in that house too.
It bothers me,