We have the most wonderful dog park in Normal. It's the quote, unquote unofficial dog park, but the official one is the size of my bathroom, so only the weenie dogs go there. The unofficial one is huge, fenced-in, and mostly poop-free.
So today, like many days, I brought Annabelle there. And the woman who brings her two pugs (pugs are just not cute
) left the gate open when she left, even though there were two other dogs in the park, thank you very much. So my girl escapes, big surprise. Even though she had been doing very little running in
the park, the minute she got out, she was off
Now the other person who was there was training his dog to fetch and retrieve. He was a large guy, dressed in camoflauge--which in itself is a bit intimidating--and had the dog on the leash. His command voice was quite loud. So loud that at one point Annabelle sat while she was out there chasing squirrels.
So there I am, outside the fence yelling like a fool for my dog. I know she's not gonna come. I've been through this enough times with her before. I now know to wait about five minutes and then I can start worrying. But still. Perhaps it's all in my head--there is a lot in there, after all, and it certainly ain't all pretty--but I could feel
this camo man's judgment bearing down on me, the dog owner who can't control her dog. He
could surely control my dog if only I'd give him the chance. Internalized critique of my doggie-owning skills. Thank GOD I'm not a parent.
The beast returned, as she always does, tongue bigger than her head. And just as I was making it back to my car, camo man is making his way to his truck with his perfectly trained dog. I walked just a wee bit faster to get into the car so as to avoid any smart-ass remark about my dog running off. I don't need to be told what I already know.
She sure is gorgeous when she runs.