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Sunday Morning at Winslow Park

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Dog party

So this must be the dog party I keep hearing about . . .

A dog party!  A big dog party!

Big dogs, little dogs, red dogs, blue dogs,

yellow dogs, green dogs, black dogs, and white dogs

are all at a dog party!  What a dog party!

OMG — how many times did I read those lines???!!!  Let’s see . . . maybe 900?  (That would be 300 nights x 3 boys.)  If Go, Dog.  Go! wasn’t

Try

Hmmm. Maybe I should give it a try . . .

their favorite book, then I don’t know what was.  And it wasn’t simply Go, Dog.  Go! they’d ask for; it was Go, Dog.  Go! by P. D. Eastman. As if “P. D. Eastman” were part of the title.

I felt like I had stepped into the Go, Dog.  Go! dog party last Sunday at Winslow Park.  But let me back up a little, ’cause it’s confession time:  Ricky

Just do it

You know what? I'm just gonna do it!

doesn’t like Winslow Park.  There.  I said it.  I know it’s apostasy.  I know this is the revered “dog park” to the rest of Westport’s dog-crazy population — but what can I say?  That’s just Ricky being Ricky.

This guy looks all right

This guy looks all right -- though I'm not too sure about Rin-Tin-Tin over there . . .

We went there once after a major snowstorm.  (Remember those?)  The snow was just the way he liked it — deep, and fluffy-soft.  He bounded, in his patented leaping-porpoise style, through powder as high as he was until he reached the fountain at the edge of the off-leash area.  And then moments after I unclipped his leash, he freaked out — and made a mad dash back for the parking lot.  Terrified that he might run out onto North Compo

'Sup, Cuz

'Sup, Cuz?

Road, I raced after him — “raced” maybe being a bit of a stretch for me in my clunky Timberland snow boots and bulky parka.  By the time we both reached the lot — Ricky got there just ahead of me and was waiting at the door of my Jeep — I could barely breathe and very much wanted to puke.

We’ve tried good old Winslow from time to time since, but for Ricky, it’s clearly a non-starter.

Last Sunday was different.  From the small hill just above the fountain I could see, in a sunny, grassy patch just the other side of the dip in the field, a tight cluster of moms and dads and wobbly little

secret

Can you keep a secret? I like to eat my own poop . . .

kids and dogs — red dogs, blue dogs, yellow dogs, green dogs . . .    Okay, not really, but collie dogs and German shepherd dogs and dachshund dogs and terrier dogs.  And an adorable, frisky little chocolate lab pup.  And one of Ricky’s cousins — a low-slung basset hound with a very dignified look

Exhausting

Gotta get me some shut-eye. All that small-talk was exhausting.

about him.

Ricky hung back for awhile . . . but eventually couldn’t resist.  First he sniffed around the periphery.  Then, mind made up, he trotted jauntily right into the fray, ears a-flopping, left-right-left-right.  He went nose-to-butt with Lassie.  He had a nice tete-a-tete with Cousin Basset.  H was having a high old time.

Awhile later, I called out, “Ricky, come!”  I was ready to head back to the car.  But after having been almost dragged to the party, now he wouldn’t leave.  Why do what Beagle Man wants me to do, when I can do the opposite? Ah, yes.  Ricky being Ricky.

NOTE:  A BIG “THANKS!” FOR ALL THE COMMENTS FROM LAST WEEK’S “RICKY AND THE WRANGLER” CONTESTSTAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT POST AND THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE WINNER!

Categories: General
Hank Herman

Leave a Reply

4 Responses

  1. Hank says:

    As long as she has a good time!

  2. Hammond Egger says:

    My beagle/jack russell mix LOVES going to the dog park.She doesn’t play with the dogs,but loves to sniff all the dog butts,pee everywhere,and walk the perimeter,nose to the ground…

  3. Hank says:

    I don’t know about well-trained. But he knows I always have a treat in my pocket, so he never wanders too far. And in most cases, he’ll go for a treat over a scent . . .

  4. Mary says:

    Hank: I can’t believe Ricky gets to run around off leash. That’s the first time I have ever heard of a Beagle that runs loose and comes back when you call him! I’ve had beagles since 1967, and all had to be on a leash. Once they put their noses to the ground, they became deaf and didn’t pay any attention to my commands. No way I can take Dante the Beagle to Winslow Park — he doesn’t like car rides and is not too friendly with other dogs. Maybe if he met another beagle, he would be nice. I wouldn’t dare bring him to the beach in the winter either. Looks like Ricky is well-trained.
    Mary