My Dog is Chelsea

It’s a lovely fall day here in Portland, one of those days too beautiful not to spend outside. So I load up Calla and my friend’s dog, River, into the car and drive them over to the huge off-leash dog park in St. Johns, where they’ll be in heaven and I’ll be basking in the lovely autumn sun.

The park is huge — a few acres, at least. Dogs and muddy tennis balls are everywhere. River, who is part labrador and all about fetching, immediately finds two worthy tennis balls and bounces around the park in a proud victory lap. (Calla, meanwhile, sniffs the perimeter and moseys around aimlessly — her favorite pastime, other than farting.)

I throw the tennis ball for River until my shoulder hurts and she loses interest. She gallivants off with the pack of dogs; Calla continues to sniff, stopping occasionally to eat a stick I’ve thrown for her (another favorite pastime of hers). Forty-five minutes elapse.

Enter The Cranky Lady. She’s got three or four dogs and a Chuckit. River loves Chuckits and can spot one from a mile away, so naturally, she comes barreling over. Problem is, none of The Cranky Lady’s dogs are particularly interested in chasing her launched tennis ball, and, even if they were, River is part greyhound and could outrun them with her legs tied together. Ever the toy thief, River collects the deposited tennis ball and runs off.

“Give me back the damn ball!” I hear her yell.

OK, whoa. You’re at a dog park, lady. Yeah, it can be annoying when another dog steals your dogs’ ball, but it’s kinda what happens when you go to a dog park. Especially when your dogs aren’t inclined to retrieve.

But I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so I intervene. I call River and tell her to drop it, which she does right away. I pick up the ball and walk it over to The Cranky Lady.

“I’m sorry!” I say, as politely as possible. “River is a bit of a Chuckit thief.”

“It’s OK,” she says, perfectly pleasantly. And then: “You don’t play with her?”

UM.

WHAT.

DID.

YOU.

JUST.

SAY?!

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

There are few things I despise more than pleasant-sounding yet passive-aggressive jabs. ESPECIALLY at a stranger, about whom you know nothing and are basing your judgment on nothing but assumption. I don’t PLAY with her? Seriously? I’ve been dogsitting River since Wednesday and have spent MANY HOURS throwing frisbees and sticks and tennis balls for her, over and over, until she collapses in the grass in exhaustion. And, I have spent the last half hour PLAYING with her. And now she’s PLAYING with other dogs — believe me, this dog is by no means neglected. So there’s really no need for that “I’m a more attentive dog owner than you” condescension.

But I don’t say any of that. “Uh, I’ve been playing with her for a while and now she’s just doing her own thing,” I say. “Besides, she’s only interested in other dogs’ balls.”

This is true. The frisbee I brought to entertain her couldn’t be of less interest at the moment.

“Oh,” she says, with that holier-than-thou tone. “I guess we’ll move.”

And she walks away. River goes back to playing with the other dogs. Calla continues to sniff, and chase after the occasional stick when the mood strikes.

The Cranky Lady leaves fifteen minutes later.

I stay an hour and a half.

So who doesn’t play with their dogs?

HINT: It’s not me.

By the way, the dogs are now sound asleep.