Here it is, October 10, and the temperature this afternoon in the dog park was probably 85. Not too much humidity. A breeze. Shade. Everyone was talking about how maybe – maybe – winter Florida style would be arriving soon. But the dogs told a different story.
The dogs panted, slobbered, kept going to the fountain for water. And that huge great dane there on the ground is Dharma, not even a year old, and she drinks a lot of water. She’s the biggest dog in the park and just wants to play – with any dog, any human. She trots over to the bench where I’m sitting and thrusts her huge muzzle at my bottle of water, knocking it to the ground. Play with me, and if you won’t, I’ll eat your water bottle. She slobbers, she licks, she’s the kind of dog who captures your heart immediately.
And when Dharma finally gets to her feet, Noah comes up behind her, mounts her, and knocks her to the ground. That’s when all the little dogs moved in to sniff and nibble at her feet and legs and ears. She takes it, she loves it.
Dharma, like her great dane brother Mufasa, who wasn’t around today, is probably an old soul, probably remembers her previous lives, her previous human companions. Dharma and Mufasa probably have a secret school in some obscure corner of the dog park where they and their students are invisible to humans. I think Noah may sit in on this class, but it’s tough getting a straight answer from him on anything. He’s an Aquarian born February 12, 2009. He’s resolute, he misses his buddy sister Nika, but oh wow, does he ever love his Frisbee.
Every time I go to the dog park, which is probably four or five times a week, I’m invited to join the dog’s world, where everything is apparent if you watch closely enough. Where everything entails synchronicity, something dogs seem to instinctively recognize and honor.
I wish there was a cat park where I could observe our three felines. They are: Tigerlil, who at age 15, is the deaf matron and doesn’t photograph well because she is always moving; Powder, whom we fond in a library parking lot, is at least 12 and maybe as old as 13, the most accepting of our cats; and Simba, our youngest, a male brought to us by our neighbor. I wish I could divine their psyches in the same way that that I do the psyches of dogs.
But hey, a cat will be the first to tell you that he or she is NOT a dog, dislikes the doggie slobbering and pandering to humans. Yet, I believe that cats, are also our cheerleaders, our teachers, and even though they don’t have parks and wouldn’t do well in such parks, they get it, too. We’re all in this together. We are Indra’s net, animal and human alike, and what affects me impacts you up and down the line.
Dog Park. You, me, them. We’re on it.