This is Jevons Park, a known feature in My Fair City, ringed about with Catholic churches and exquisite town houses, and home to a Sacred Tree. (Really.) On Saturday morning, they have Market Day, and it’s a prime time for people with dogs.
Mostly, it’s the BoBo perfecta: a chance to virtue signal (I’m shopping for locavore organic produce), publicly spend a lot of money (it’s not cheap), and, last but certainly not least, show off their precious pooches, or puppers, or doggos… their DOGS! And, of course, quite a few other people, and their dogs come also. Big dogs, little dogs, every kind of dog.
I don’t have a dog. But I like walking in Jevons (“Jeeves”), anyway. It’s on the way to the Meat King, where I pick up my monthly freezer package: four steaks, four chickens, and a pound or two of miscellaneous animal parts. In the park itself, there are many mysteries. Hawks. A community cat, so sweet his tag discourages taking him home. Sakura cherries in Spring (not sacred). And so on.
And, so, it was I met Killer.
All I can remember about his owner was that he was wearing black and red. I could probably remember a beard and curly hair, and maybe there was a hat involved. If there was denim, it didn’t register, but there was a lot of leather. And of course studs, and a dog.
It was of mixed breed – it wasn’t big, but it sure looked fierce. Kind of like what you might get if you took the the top four aggressive shorthair breeds, put them in a mixmaster, and shrank them down to about knee-high on a short woman.
Of course, he had a spiked collar and a leash with studs, and no muzzle and he’s unfixed, his ample scrotum wobbling to and fro. Somehow, though, he had good dog vibes, kind of like a C. M. Coolidge painting. Put a bowler on him, give him a cigar, and he’d be a coach at a boxing ring, or a tout at a racetrack, cool as a cucumber as he sizes someone up for “potential”.
The owner, though is not. He’s making a big show of pulling back the dog, mumbling how dangerous the dog is, sorry lady, he doesn’t like women, he’s…
“…and who is this?” I said. Like I said, I’m more used to cats than dogs, to me it’s only polite that they make the first move.
“Killer.”
I smile. I squat down. Dog looks pleased, and a little surprised.
“Nice.”
Dog gives me lovey-eyes, and a few high-pitched sounds.
Oh, he hasn’t had this in a while. There’s a philosophy, among a certain breed of urbanite, that to produce a tough dog you have to be cruel. Don’t let anyone else feed or touch your dog, and don’t be too kind yourself, lest your friend become attached to human touch. Unfortunately, this often leads to dogs who’re more confused and frightened and needy than actually interested in guarding anything. Which means…
I move in a hand. Slowly, calmly.
Dog emits the equivalent of a deep sigh.
I speak in mammalian love-language, what our species has bred each other to know…
“Goo’boy. you’re happy to have a friend, aren’t you?. Tell me, how’s life at home?”
Dog pants, nub tail wags, ear nubs rise.
“Yeah, this is wonderful. Could you, like, maybe take me home? This guy’s out of his mind!”
“He… I wouldn’t like to have you …I mean, he gets dangerous when he…”
At this point, the dog rolls on his back, even shows…perhaps a little red? “Really. I’ll do anything. Even kink. Just don’t make me hump that wooden box, I don’t play that way. What is that interesting smell you’re wearing? Not your time of the month, right?”
“Calm down, Killer, it’s still our first date.”
A moment of warm and happy interspecies communion passes. I look up at the man on the other side of the leash.
He’s trying, trying, everything to get this dog to dislike me. He’s looking at everyone else in Jeeves, who, mostly, don’t really care.
"Please, Please, bite this woman, just a little snap?"I saw him thinking."I’m supposed to be tough. And so are you. Why did she have to come along?"
We touch. Man jerks leash. Dog gets on feet. I rise.
“I’m sure you have a lovely time together.”
I smile.