Met Another AssHat at the Dog Park

Warning! Warning! Another Asshat sighting at the dog park.

A few nights ago, there is this self-proclaimed Ceaser Milan (the dog whisperer) at the dog park. I am talking to my German friend while our dogs are getting it on. The faux dog whisperer leans into our conversation, points at my sweet little Maggie, who is innocently humping the mildly tolerant fixed Streudel, and says "That's aggressive behavior."

No it's not, bozo. Maggie gets humped by all the ball-less males and she thinks "This is what dogs do, right?" hump hump hump. She's seen Oprah enough times to know that the alpha female stands behind the guest and humps them while talking to the audience.

Streudel's German owner and I ignore him and continue our dialogue, which, while it stays on the subject of the pink medicine she put on Streudel's tic bite, also includes eye rolling met with a nod -- the silent handshake between the two of us that this guy is a know-it-all dog-whispering-poser and not to be given any more of our attention.

Okay. So that's the first time I meet the guy.

Second time I meet him he is bragging about his German Shepard. Sports dog. From Germany. Long line of blah blah blah. Awards, medals, pendants, ribbons, purple heart, blah blah blah.

Third time I meet him, again, "....Sports dog....from Germany...long line of blah blah blah.

The fourth time I meet him, once again the Shepard's credentials as a great athlete, war hero, first dog on the moon...blah, blah, blah. Okay he didn't mention a purple heart and or the moon but you get the idea. This dog tops all other dogs at the dog park and he's there to prove it to anyone who'll listen....or who gets stuck listening until they can find a way to lose him in the sea of dogs and dog owners.

I reply this fourth time of unsuccessfully dodging him with "She has an impressive curriculum vitae." Sometimes the only way to shut these kinds of guys up is to compliment them. In dog language I've just let him pee on my leg in order to get him to walk away and find another leg. Perhaps there's another bitch in the crowd humping a tolerant neutered male twice its size.

Except my strategy does't work. The words curriculum vitae pique his curiosity. He Instead of wandering off he asks me what I do for a profession.

I say "I'm a mom."

"But what do you do for a profession?"

"I'm my kid's mom."

"You sound like a professional. What do you do?"

"Parent. Why, did you think I was intelligent so how could I just be a Mom?" Women who are moms are only moms because they can't get a job?? I'm trying to figure out this guy's thinking, which is somewhat easy to do. Just dumb it down.

This is my way of peeing on his leg to get him to walk away and it proves to be successful.

Fifth time I meet him. Tonight. He's back for more leg-peeing. He asks me about The Profession. Again. I say "I know. My high IQ is just glaring at you, isn't it, and you simply must know what it is I DO besides raise childre." Then I fake laugh. Ha ha ha ha ha. Peeing on his other leg.

His wife says "Just because someone has a high IQ that doesn't mean anythin

People turn into dogs sometimes in my mind when I'm talking with them at the dog park. They usually turn into their own dog. But this time his wife began to look like Hazel, a gorgeous, red dog. Part bloodhound. Part yogi. When Hazel takes a shit she looks like a yoga master, balancing flawlessly with her back in child's pose, her tush elevated six inches from the ground, and eyes that could stay in tree pose for a week. She's so steady.

So this guy's wife looks like Hazel taking a crap. Or maybe the way I am looking at her is the way anyone would at a dog that's taking a crap, peripherally. Out of the edge of my eye I can see she is holding a pose. Perhaps holding a leash with a dog at the end of it.

And this guy....I can't tell you what dog he looks like. I not only imagine people turning into their dogs when I'm talking to them at the dog park. Sometimes I'm the one who shape shifts.

I had just finished watching New Waterford Girl in which one of the movie characters, a teenager from the Bronx, whose father, an imprisoned boxer, punches annoying guys in the face and they fall down. It's a great part of the movie. I love it. I am punching girl at this very moment. Mentally, my sleeves are rolled up.

I'm so close to winding up a swing at this guy with his next line of questions.

"Did you finish junior high?"

I answer him while mentally raising my fist shoulder height and bringing it back.

"Did you graduate from high school?"

I answer instead of, while he's on the ground wondering what happened, mounting him and pretending to be Hazel.

His wife steps in and, unaware that in my mind I've just flattened him, says "I can't take him any where."

This is his cue to stop being an ass but he can't help himself. I can't either. I spend the remainder of the evening reading a book at home on the couch. "Reading" a book. More like rehearsing what I'm going to say next time I see him, rehearsing what I could have said or done tonight while staring at the same paragraph for an hour.

His last questions before his wife nudges him away from me with another social cue that he is being a butthead are "Did you graduate from college?" and his next "What was your major?" and his next, "Did you get your masters?"

"no"

"Did you go to technical school?"

"No."

I answered instead of growling at him, clamping my jaw down on his muzzle and running while dragging him, or better, humping him from behind like Maggie. Maybe he's right. Maybe my dog is aggressive. Way to go, Maggie!

Gorilla Dream

I had a dream last night that "they" were trying to get me to adopt a gorilla from the zoo. It walked on its back two legs and was almost a man. I walked all around with him in public. I was afraid to be alone with him and to adopt him because, as I kept asking the zookeeper, "Aren't gorillas unsafe and known to physically harm the help?" They didn't deny it but they kept insisting that I should adopt this animal. That it would be good for both of us. That gorillas have changed.

I turned them down after a long period in the dream where I kept interacting with the gorilla. The interactions were strange. He moved slowly, robotically, and without much eye contact, if any. I couldn't see into him, to see if he would hurt me or love me. I wanted to measure that trigger inside of him to see how quick and fierce his anger was so I could know whether or not it would be safe to commit myself long-term to him or if he would simply overpower me within a moment's rage, with no built-in stops. I decided that he wasn't ready to come out of his cage and live among humans.

Then later I was at a workshop of some sort and I saw the gorilla. He was a man, who had previously been a gorilla but had moved on from that gig. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to talk to me. But he kept disappearing and our paths quit crossing and I moved on to the next dream.

In real life, I've been fascinated by the way in which fathers at the park communicate with their sons as they're teaching them about things. Two men stood out for me last night. One was very gruff. He made little eye-contact. He talked in short, monosyllobic words to his son and to the other boys on the t-ball team who he was coaching at home plate. If they were standing too close to the plate he'd say, "back up." He didn't tell them why or how far. Just "back up". He'd ask them to take a practice hit. "Let's see your swing" he'd say, nodding to the T that had no ball on it. They'd swing. He'd say "good" or "okay". Then he'd put a ball on the T and nod for them to hit it.

He looked like he had a bad temper and yelled a lot off camera. But I liked him. I liked that he was teaching the boys, not about baseball but about "true grit" masculinity.

After the game, I noticed a very gentle-looking man. What struck me was how high his voice was when he looked behind him and called for his son to follow him. He had a very feminine quality not just to his voice but his face and posture were both very soft and gentle. Although his son looked like his father, he did not possess the same feminine strengths. The boy followed his father's footsteps, several paces back, encumbered by some inner resentment, some inner struggle.