Freedom at the Dog Park

It finally happened. My dog Libby got to run around outside, off-leash. On our neighborhood walks, it always breaks my heart this pint-size Yorkie can’t go off on her own since… well, she can’t be trusted and would end up in the next county. Instead, she tugs (and tugs and tugs), performing a slow-motion gallop, wanting to zoom around like her canine ancestors. I always felt bad that I couldn’t let her go…until now.

The other day, I discovered a tiny woodsy dog park, tucked away behind our town’s middle school. The area’s the size of a large backyard and bordered with a split-rail fence and chicken wire.

On Libby’s inaugural visit, I was disappointed no other dogs were there, but figured that it might be best. Libby doesn’t always play well with others. She can learn the ropes of the place solo.

We entered the gate, closed it behind us, and I took off her leash. She looked back at me, as if I’d made this huge, but awesome mistake. Then, she made a beeline for the park’s edges, snuffling around for a Yorkie-sized hole in the chicken wire. Oh God, I thought, just my luck she’ll find the one escape route and disappear forever. Thank God, the builders were thorough.

Like all our outings, Libby always seems more interested in what’s under the ground than above it. Her breed is from Yorkshire, England (hence the name Yorkie) and was designed to go down little holes hunting for mice, badgers, and rabbits.

Soon she caught on that she could have the run of the place. It felt good to trot ahead, calling, “C’mon Libby!” With a big smile, she galloped about, doing several laps, before slowing and sniffing again.

The designers wisely put in lots of benches, although Libby wanted me to escort her around on this maiden voyage. Of course, she had to leave her “mark” everywhere and seemed to gravitate to the muddiest, ickiest edges.

After half an hour of running, smelling, and lolling in mud, Libby seemed to have had her fill. At seven-years old, I notice she’s slowing down, without the relentlessly fast stamina she had as a pup. And though this was hardly the fields of England, this little park was big enough for Libby to get a feel for the “open road.” No doubt, she’ll be back.

That afternoon we got home and she immediately got a “sink bath,” a quick spraying off, especially those dirty paws.

After an early dinner of leftover chicken, Libby took a nap beside me while I read. I touched her soft black and white fur while she snoozed, glad I could give this little dog a good life. I wondered if she dreamt of mud and chicken wire.

 

Do you ever bring your pet to a dog park? Comments are welcome and if you liked this, please share.

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