Those of us who have not raised children do get opportunities to use our latent parenting skills — at the dog park.
On Monday mornings I take Riley to a big open field where he can run and play with canine pals he has known since he was a pup. On any particular Monday, this informal play group consists of ten dogs, give or take. They all get along quite well. We rarely see even a slight breach of dog manners among any of them. Once, Jeb, the Bloodhound, (dog names have been disguised to protect their privacy) piddled on my foot. I guess I was standing still too long. But that’s hardly a serious transgression. I washed my sneakers, but to this day my left foot holds a particular fascination for dogs I encounter.
Normally, Riley is very excited to get there. He has been one of the main “playas” in the group. But for the last couple of weeks, he has been quite indifferent to interacting with the others, almost mopey, preferring to snack on deer poop. This leaves his frustrated dog mom, saying things like, “C’mon, Riley, you’re here to play!” (But does he listen to his mother?)
Meanwhile, the Golden Retrievers, McGregor and Nutmeg, wrestle. Jeb and a cock-a-poo, named Regis, chase each other in crazy circles. Connie, a Lab, and her Chihuahua-sized, mixed-breed sidekick, Gidget, run off to explore in the woods nearby. Lucy just runs from one end of the field to the other because she is a Springer Spaniel and can’t think of what else to do because she can’t find any birds to flush. Sergei, a St. Bernard we call “The Cop,” polices the action in case anyone gets hurt and needs rescuing. And then there is Patrick, a Golden with a furious obsession for ball-chasing.
I’m beginning to think that Riley’s indifference to playing is because he’s losing his competitive edge to Patrick. Any ball ever thrown in any direction, Patrick will race at breakneck speed to retrieve. Even if he has gone long for a ball lobbed off one of those Chucker things that let you fling a ball much further than you could ever throw it, Patrick will loop around and intercept a ball that I throw for Riley in the opposite direction. And if another dog is in the right place at the right time to actually get a ball, Patrick descends upon the hapless canine, growling and snarling until the dog gives it up. Patrick is fast on his feet and can cram three tennis balls in his mouth at the same time, so he can easily out-retrieve anyone on the field. Call him a Wide Retriever. Seriously, he could play for the Giants.
Meanwhile, when Riley starts off to run for a ball, only to see it snatched away from him by this ball-hogging over-achiever, he will stop, look back at me and sigh, like, “Aw, gee, Patrick got it again.” So, while we wait for Patrick’s mom to pry balls out of his mouth so we can resume play, my fur son, feeling sorry for himself, ambles away to find more deer poop. I feel bad for the little guy. It’s like he’s losing his self-esteem.
What’s a mom to do? Do I continue to take him to the field because he should learn to deal with the other kids and the fresh air will do him good? Or bench him so he doesn’t suffer further humiliation (and gastric upset from the deer poop)?
I did a little research. Cesar Milan, the famed Dog Whisperer, talks about group dynamics and the shifting subtleties of dog hierarchies. Maybe Riley just accepts that Patrick is an alpha ball retriever. “Mom, that’s the way it is.”
My friend, Susie, sent me an article by Dr. Karen Becker, a veterinarian/behaviorist who says that it is strictly a human idea that a dog ought to be sociable in all situations. Dogs have a whole definition of playground etiquette that is purely canine in nature. We can’t expect them to play with every Tom, Dick and Hairy that happens along. She says they need: 1. good, reliable buddies. Riley’s got his BFF, Dover who is his best playmate, 2. structured play such as at day care. Riley goes to Club K-9 twice a week, so we’ve got that covered as well, and 3. lots of vigorous walks. Got it.
I think it really comes down to some basic wisdom of the “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten” kind. Be nice to each other. Share your toys.
So, I’m thinking I might forget about the Monday morning play group. It hasn’t been much fun for either Riley or me lately, both of us just standing around in a field watching other dogs play.
I guess my parenting style in conflict resolution is to retreat, tail between my legs. Just call me Old Yeller.
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