He likes to watch

Every evening, when the old gimpmeister is feeling up to it, we slowly make our way over to the park so that he can lie on the grass [or snow] and roll around for a while and then watch the rest of the world going by. He used to do this when he was younger, too, but now he is simply content to be an aloof observer. Now that the weather is getting warm again, the park gets pretty busy in the evening with kids having picnics, walkers, joggers, bench bums and, of course, people walking their dogs. I don't blame HB for wanting to hang out for a while as sometimes it gets pretty interesting. It's also is a great way to avoid doing my inscrutable Finnish exercises for a little while.

I've been getting to know the residents in the neighbourhood by their pets since I don't know their names. I don't know why it is that dog people always remember the names of the dogs, but not the person's on the other end of the leash. A neighbourhood I used to live in had so many dogs that people were commonly referred to as "Spot's Dad" in conversation since it was likely that it would be more recognisable than "Mark". The personality of the human becomes subjugated by the charm of the cute, furry puppy with the wagging tail at their feet. There are quite a variety of people and dogs around our block of pavement: There is the nice older man with a pipe and a wee white puffball who has never barked at HB but often gives him a frightened look now and then when his eyes are visible through all the hair. He's the kind of man who is secure enough in his masculinity to have a frilly girly dog. It must be the pipe and the grey hair that does it. There is another guy who takes his shepherd mutt for a walk on his bicycle with the dog running along behind him. I often see him in blue coveralls which might mean he is in a trade of some sort. A year passed before he ever sort of nodded in my direction to acknowledge HB and I. There are the two sheepdogs who are aggressive and seemingly never on the leash but impeccably trained. I suppose the owners have to remember to feed the end that barks. At one point, I remember hearing a ruckus around the corner which sounded like a car crash but was the sheepdogs colliding with the dachshund trio resulting in a great deal of protest. And there is the old woman with 3 dachshunds who I keep expecting to pull her off her feet and drag her down the street someday in spite of how sprightly she walks. There are countless others who seem to appear at random in the dog area in the park that we've been getting familiar with, too. Jack Russell, Dachshund, Wheaton Terrier and various other terriers seem to be the most popular breeds. Mostly snack food, but there are the occasional big dogs who are well behaved with the microdogs. One is even bigger than HB which certainly got his attention after so many years of being the biggest dog on the block. Size matters, even for dogs. :)

A dog is much like a child in the respect that you identify with and are friendly towards other people in your common dogness and there is a social order that forms. I would take HB into the dog park but he is too tired and gimpy to play with the younger dogs and, in spite of being reasonably free of teeth, too fond of taking a chomp on the snack food-sized dogs which doesn't make many friends of the owners or the pets. So, we are content to sit in the shade, roll around on the grass and watch the other dogs chase each other and bark at the leviathan on the other side of the fence. Most of the dogs, in spite of their differences in size, seem to get on pretty well until a yip-yip-yapping in the distance begins. The owners look at each other, start collecting their best friends and clear the area post haste. As the yapping gets closer, you begin to contemplate justifications for canine barkectomy or doggie downers. When you locate the direction of the sound you see a person with two microscopic dogs on hopelessly tangled leashes being dragged behind them as they race towards the dog park while incessantly yapping at nothing in particular. Apparently they are brother and sister, one of whom tried to kill the other and they had to be separated for a while. I call them the 'twin rats on crack'. HB just eyes them with a rather blase curiosity while determining if they are food or not. I wonder sometimes if the dogs bark in Finnish and if he understands them.