[Today is post #8 in our annual, summer Guest Writer Series. Note that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist.]
Saturday was a big day for our dogs. Ed took them with him to run errands and stop at our favorite donut shop for donuts and coffee. Afterward, he took them to Miami Meadows Dog Park in Miami Township for a change of scene, and a chance to socialize with other dogs. I tagged along if I didn’t have too much to do on the home front.
We purchased a ramp to make it easier for Meg to get in and out of our SUV since she could no longer jump into it, and thus save Ed’s back from the strain of lifting her. She still weighed seventy-five pounds in her old age.
The dogs saw the ramp come out, knew why and where they were headed as if they had an internal calendar. Sam used it, too, and seemed to think it was a nifty apparatus for his amusement. He’d go up and down several times before settling down in the car with a fleece toy in his mouth to wait for the big outing.
Miami Meadows is two hundred acres with soccer fields, baseball and football fields, basketball courts, two shelters, picnic areas, walking trails, skate park, dog park, and a beautiful fishing lake. A major portion of the park has been declared a wetland reserved for wildlife.
The dog park itself is divided into two large fenced sections based on size, large or small, includes available fresh water, picnic tables, and an agility course. The doggie drinking fountain was one of Sam’s favorite amenities, and he spent a lot of time hanging out there. It was the bar scene for dogs, and suited his drinking problem to a tee.
During warm weather the dog park was frequently crowded with the same dogs and their people. After a while we began to recognize who went with whom, which group of people constituted a click, and which dogs we wished ours would avoid if possible. Unfortunately, it was impossible unless they were leashed, and that defeated the purpose of going to the dog park in the first place.
Meg enjoyed sniffing around, but was too old to put up with much nonsense from any dog. She was always cordial, but if another dog tried to roughhouse or chew on her she quickly asserted her Grand Dame status with an immediate ‘don’t mess with me’ snarl. She showed no teeth, but the offender got her message loud and clear and backed off. Usually a day late and a dollar short, Sam showed up to check on her and see what the problem was, but she had already taken care of it herself by that time. It was thoughtful of him to check on his old friend, though.
There was always the occasional squabble, some serious, but most over quickly, and Sam felt it was his duty to investigate and mediate most of them. Basically, he stuck his big snout in the other dogs’ business, and was lucky he didn’t lose it altogether. He had never been in a fight to our knowledge, and might have ended up on the short side of that stick in spite of his size. He was a lover, not a fighter.
Once all the excitement was over he returned to his socializing. And socialize he did.
Sam was a natural born social director. He had a gift. He took it upon himself to personally greet each new person and their dogs at the gate. He greeted the dogs in the normal dog fashion by sniffing their behinds, one by one, whether they liked it or not. If one or two didn’t, he accepted the rebuff with his usual aplomb, and happily trotted away completely unoffended to sniff the fence perimeter to see who else had been around.
The human Parkies, as I called us, stood around talking in groups. There were always quite a few groups, and we rarely spoke about anything other than our dogs or someone else’s dog, which was expected since that’s why we all were there. But Sam seemed to feel that, other than his family, the Parkies were in need of his attention or he was entitled to their adoration. We weren’t sure which.
He would stop whatever he had been doing, trot over to a newly formed group, and weave his way through it like he was navigating an agility obstacle course made up of human bodies. He’d halt in front of each person, smiling and wagging, stick his nose where it didn’t belong, and wait for the anticipated pat on the head. He stood there until each person stopped their conversation to focus on him and granted the expected adoration. Sometimes he even got a doggie treat. Then he moved on to the next and the next until he had greeted everyone in each individual group.
After doing this so often a few of the regulars started calling him ‘The Social Director’. When we entered the park we’d hear, “Here comes the Social Director”! Ed took it in stride, but I thought it was hysterically funny that anyone else had described his behavior the same way I saw it. He did look like he was making sure everyone was having a good time. He needed to pass around a tray full of drinks and snacks to complete the picture.
After repeated trips to the dog park, we realized that Sam had a habit of ‘looking for love in all the wrong places’. He really liked small dogs, and occasionally preferred males. In the Biblical sense. Not every visit, but we never knew when the urge would hit him. I guess he came out of the proverbial closet at the park.
His behavior, while not uncommon, was still embarrassing since he was neutered. There were a lot of children around at times, and they didn’t need to see it at a family park. They could go home and watch it on National Geographic.
Granted, living with Meg was like living with his great-grandmother, and she did not put up with amorous displays from any dog, even him. We thought that Sam would, or should, prefer females, and they would appreciate the attention from a handsome, strapping, big boy.
No. Sam honed in on some poor unsuspecting little dog, and stalked him around the park relentlessly until one of us intervened and redirected his thoughts, or the owner physically removed the nervous little dog. We knew Sam didn’t want to hurt it, just love it, but the nervous little dog and his owner wasn’t so sure. The poor little guy was so worn out from trying to escape from Sam, I was surprised he wasn’t standing at the gate whistling for his person to come and get him out of there.
Sam was such a love bug in so many ways, but I could have done without that one.
After an exhilarating morning of errands: shopping at Home Depot, the pharmacy, picking up donuts, and hanging out with Ed, Meg, and the Parkies, Sam was usually pooped when he got home. Apparently, being a social director and stalker took a lot out of him because he spent the next couple of hours crashed on his bed with his favorite fleece toy stuffed under his head.
Sam had a lot of nicknames: Wonder Boy, Sister Mary Sam, Goofball, Yellow Boy, Knucklehead, and my favorite, Knothead, but he never had a title. We added Social Director to his many monikers, and it was pretty cool because I personally didn’t know any other dog with an assigned title.
Being the bona fide dog park Social Director had its perks, and Sam loved every minute of it. He loved being with people and we enjoyed watching him do his thing. He had a way of making everyone smile simply by being around him.
We just had to keep that other issue under control, and stuff Sam back into the closet when he switched hats and set his sights on a little male dog.
With joy…
Linda
Except from Sam & Friends: A Collection of Recollections of Life with a Knothead
Permission by Linda Kiernan, July 2016