Peace of mind

Regardless of how my day was, to finish with a walk at the dog park almost always makes it all OK.

Often, I'll tell people that Hathaway saved my sanity. (Those closest to me just laugh knowingly). But having to walk the dog gets me out of the house, which usually doubles as the office these days. It gets me exercising when really I'd just like a couple more ... hours ... in bed.

Even better than just walking is making it to the dog park -- Stodder's Neck in Hingham. (It might be Stoddard's Neck, depending on whether you believe the sign out front or the labels on the trash cans. The Stoddard I know doesn't have a neck.)

It is Happy Hour without alcohol. The dogs have their friends and playmates and their owners are just there to keep order. It's like watching children on a playground, the way they run up to each other in greeting, run, chase balls and sticks and wrestle.

Yep, sometimes there's a disagreement or somebody doesn't want to share a toy and a scuffle starts, but everybody takes a time out and then it's back to wagging tails and sniffing butts.

I wasn't sure I was going to make it to the dog park on Wednesday. With three quiet hours, I could have gotten a lot of work done. On the other hand, I'd already made a lot of progress and Hath and I both needed some fresh air. When we got there, we spent a couple of minutes with Rich, who was just leaving with Lola and Simon. Before we got very far, I heard my name and turned to see Carmen charging after us (with Ginny right behind, waving). Halfway through our first lap, we caught up with Louie and his guy and Monica and Roxy. We walk and talk, tell dog stories, compare notes.

Nearly 90 minutes later, it was time to head home to eat and get dinner ready for when the kids got back from skiing. By then, we were refreshed and renewed and content thanks to our dog park friends. There's a comfort in the camaraderie that brings peace of mind to the rest of one day and something to look forward to the next.

Reality Bites

Saturday, the real world sneaked into my doggy day in two very different ways.

It was warm for coastal Massachusetts in the middle of January, a little over 40 degrees and no wind. The kind of day that gets everybody outside for awhile. Most of them went to the dog park apparently. The parking lot at Stodders Neck in Hingham was full -- meaning 50 cars or more, meaning a lot of people and dogs who aren't usually there. Reg flag anyone?

Hathaway is rarely on his leash at the park. I have it with me always, and he wears his harness, but he minds his business, chases his ball and runs with his buddies. He also sticks close to me and obeys commands most of the time. Most of the regulars know him because he's a good dog and also because this pit bull with rippling muscles trots around the path wagging his tail with a bright orange ball in his mouth and a goofy happy look on his face.

We were walking like that when I got the first dose of reality from a dad with a Bichon on a leash. Hath trotted up and sniffed: the dog and its boy, who was about 8. He asked what kind of dog, and I said a pit.

And then watched the father push his son behind him, putting himself between the boy and my dog.

I said "Hath, walk!" and as we continued on our way, the guy called after us, "Sorry, it's not the dog, it's the reputation." I resisted temptation to point out that his dog would probably bite someone before mine would. We just walked away.

The second dose of reality came a little while later. Hath was fetching his ball, and chasing and greeting the way he always does. He was chasing his ball and another dog was chasing its ball while I was talking to its owner. They'd run after each other, then get distracted by some odor or another dog or a new person, then get their balls again and bring them back to us.

I turned away for a minute, but was quickly brought back to the moment by growls and barks. The other dog was after Hathaway and my boy wasn't backing down. The guy pulled his dog off and I grabbed Hath's harness and told him to walk, which he did. He didn't need his leash. We just headed for the car, listening from across the field to the other owner disciplining his dog.

It wasn't until later that I noticed a small gash on Hathaway's head and a couple of tooth marks on the side of his face. When I rinsed them, I found more teeth marks. Today I found a small scab on his neck. All told, it was the gash and five teeth marks in a crescent shape on the side of my pit bull's face.

Put there by a golden retriever. I hope those who support breed-specific legislation take note.