At the dog park

Rufus @ P.I. May 2013

A man asked if I could spare a poop bag.A man asked if I could spare a poop bag. I gave him one. It occurred to me that there are not too many other places where this would be considered a normal interaction. I heard him calling after his dog, “Fifer!” And here’s what struck me as funny: Fifer was the name we’d chosen to name our child if we’d had a boy. (Kylie reminds us often that she is glad she was born a girl, if for no other reason than she couldn’t imagine going through life as Fifer.) But if she had been born a boy, I would be giving a poop bag to a man to pick up the excrement of a dog with the same name as my son. It’s just something to think about…

Two women were walking together, and one says to the other, “And she said, ‘I could be halfway around the world in the time it takes him to put on his pants.’ I don’t know what that means, but it’s funny!”

My dog, Rufus,¬†is sniffing furiously at a woman, so I feel the need to say something: “He likes to smell.” She responds while motioning to her dog, “She likes to smell too.” We share a momentary bond based on our dogs’ mutual habit of sniffing.

It was Shore Clean-up Day, so people on one side of the fence at Pt. Isabel were carrying big trash bags to pick up garbage, and people on the other side were carrying smaller¬†bags to collect their dogs’ poop. Everyone was doing their share to make our world a little cleaner. Except the dogs.


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