Obsession

I sat on a bench, the sort that’s attached to a redwood picnic table, facing outwards to a shorn field that served as the town’s off-leash dog park. I threw a tennis ball, a Penn, with a ball tosser, something an archaeologist would liken to an atl atl or ancient, paleo, spear thrower. You get more distance than if you just threw the ball overhand. The dog watched where he landed then bounded after it, bringing the ball back to drop off at my feet. We repeated this process a dozen times, his eyes never leaving the ball as he watched its trajectory over the field.  Seventh heaven for this fellow.
            A woman, middle-aged and with the sort of paunch you could mistake for a pregnancy, stood a few feet away and if she noticed me or anyone else around, she didn’t indicate it with so much as a nod.  She was squawking into her cell phone that that had one of those handles you kept between your fingers, holding on for dear life. If you weren’t eavesdropping as I was, you’d have thought she was in a raging battle with someone, an ex-husband maybe, or his lawyer. My sympathies went to the person at the other end of that call.
There was bitterness in her voice, impatience, a sense that she been done a deliberate slight of epic proportions. But I was listening.  Her issue was that window shade she’d ordered wouldn’t be delivered that morning as promised, but a few hours later due to some mishap or traffic accident.  I didn’t get the sense the woman worked, not the way she was dressed in her Spanx faux leather leggings and wondered what the big deal was for such a minor delay. I thought I heard her mentioned fifteen thousand, I could have been wrong, and figured if she was spending that much a few hours here or there weren’t important in the grand scheme. 
She nearly spit as she blew air out of her mouth when she hung up saying to herself “no fucking tip.”  She then screamed multiple times for a “Trixie” before chasing after a yelping miniature schnauzer who ran every time she came in grabbing distance, trying to use a red leather leash, with embedded rhinestones, as a lasso. She wielded it more like a whip; I couldn’t blame Trixie for taking off.
My dog almost knocked her over as he ran after a ball. She glared at him then at me. I smiled but that glare refused to leave her face. I admit I threw the ball closer than was necessary, but I’m a good shot and he’s a fast dog. No way he would have collided with her. Well, maybe a little way, but not much.
A man walked by, an old golden in tow, which he yanked periodically to get the old boy moving.  He, too, was in a hurry, looking every few seconds at his watch; a gold Rolex I noted. Nice watch. The dog was sniffing a browned grass patch where another dog had once peed.  The retriever didn’t care about the time; he didn’t even have a watch.  He sniffed more patches, tried to bite a bee flying near him and then romped off when two fuzzy labradoodles, small ones, caught his attention. They did the requisite butt sniffing for recognition. When done, they jumped at each other like old Rock’em Sock’em Robots. 
            The owner of the pair yelled bloody murder when the dogs started barking and growling over the torn remains of a green tennis ball.  She ran to them as best she could in inappropriate heels waving her arms at the dogs, now wrestling on a low-lying muddy spot, as the trio were joined by a mutt, a poodle, and a massive Newfie who seemed to be more observing than participating, gobs of drool dripping off his smiling muzzle.  The woman grabbed her dogs by their collars admonishing them for fighting, which they weren’t, while turning to the onlooking dog-owners to admonish them for not controlling their animals.
            They ignored her.  Two walked away calling their dogs.  I told her the dogs were simply playing as evidenced both by the wagging tails and the fact they all were scrambling to get back to each other, including her brood, who were leaving muddy prints on her white pants in their effort to return to the fun.
            Q: Who wears white pants at a dog park? A: Someone who doesn’t know dogs.
            We continued me and my dog.  I threw the ball, he retrieved, tireless, focused, again and again.  A young woman with four dogs of different sizes on leashes came by each pulling in a different direction. A dog walker, she had to be. “Training for the Iditarod?” I asked.  She smiled, vaguely.  I don’t think she knew what the Iditarod was. 
My boy did his sniffing routine causing the various leashes to tangle in and around the woman’s legs. She didn’t seem to mind. He got his ball and brought it back. When I’d say “drop” he’d drop it at my feet, stare intently, body ready to spring after it.  Another woman walked by followed by an ancient lab, black with a white muzzle, walking painfully behind.  Another sniffing exchange. The dogs I mean. My guy dropped the ball in front of her dog and the old fellow wagged his tail for the umpteenth time in his life.  He took the ball in his mouth, labored a few steps towards me, and dropped it needing a wide-open muzzle to take in oxygen for the supreme effort.  My dog got the ball, brought it to me, and dropped it on command.
            “You’ve trained him well,” she said with a dimpled smile and walked on. 
I put the slobbery ball in the basket of the tosser and said, “Time we went home.”  He understood but tried to dissuade me by bracing himself for another lunge, staring at the ball.  When I shifted position he got all excitibated and made to move, a false start, waiting for the throw. Okay, one more. Okay, two, three, four, until finally he returned with more a jog than a run, his tongue hanging a good few inches from his mouth.  Finally, at last, he was tired.  I poured some water in my hand for him, but it dripped away. Then I used my hat because, why not, he’s thirsty.  An ancient grey muzzle came over my shoulder, also lapping from my hat. It was the old guy, tail still wagging.  He gave me a dog kiss right on my mouth.
“You’ve trained him well,” I said to the woman with a still dimpled smile.  She winked and made my day.