Dog Park 1

I left the dog park suddenly today, feeling as though I had just been punched in the gut. I had spent my whole time there convinced that I was doing the right thing – training Albie behave as I told him. He had been obsessing over Friday, a Lab who is a regular at the park. I knew upon arrival that this had been happening for days, every morning Jeff would come home and regal me with tales of Albie's obsession, and how after a few times of correcting him, he would take the dogs and leave. I was certain that I had it all figured out: Albie needed patience and repetitive, strict direction. I would repeatedly correct him and make him sit by me, every time he misbehaved, until he knew what the right behavior was. I intended to carry out gentle but firm instruction which would mold his behavior until it was appropriate. I was in training for when I had children! I knew about behavior modification! I was certainly smarter than this dog.
It started out great – Albie didn’t seem to even notice Friday, and I was able to keep my eye on Albie and Clark easily. Then, suddenly, Albie started to obsess. Bam! He ran up to Friday and began to try to “play” – but all too roughly. I grabbed Albie by the collar and placed him by my side with a firm “No.” I made him sit and kept him there for several minutes. I let him go. He did it again, right out of the box. Grab his collar again, make him sit for a minute or two….after a few times, he seemed to be getting better. It wasn’t that hard, just more annoying than anything, and I though, look at me! I am going to be a great mom! I am in control of this dog! Several times, Albie refused to sit, but I didn’t back down until he did so. What grace and control I had. I could train this dog to do anything. After a few more times, Albie took to just getting very close to Friday and giving him a few jabs and play bow. When he would behave appropriately, I would stand next to him and praise him, saying: “Good dog! Nice, nice.” Nice was a word we had taught Clark at the park, and basically it meant “play nice.” Those who are somewhat unfamiliar to the park find it difficult to distinguish between “nice play” and “too rough play”. Jeff and I struggled (and still struggle) with this concept, but with both try to err on the side of more gentle when it comes to how our dogs treat other dogs. Anyway, I followed Albie around, saying “nice, nice” and feeling so proud and happy that I had made a change! “Hmmm….,” I thought, “all of those days, Jeff must have left to early! I made a difference!” Just then Albie ventured close to Friday again, barking and nipping and wanting to play. Friday happened to be close to his owner, Jack, when this occurred. I said “nice,” thinking that this was now a signal to Albie that he was to play only “nicely” with Friday. With this, Jack snapped: “I’d like to know what’s nice about THAT behavior.” With that, my heart sank. Could it be that this whole time I was doing the wrong thing? How could I have been so stupid? Mortified at MY bad behavior, I clipped the leash on Albie and called Clark to me. I said a brief and head down good bye under my breath and exited the park quickly. I was so embarrassed! I had entered the situation with the best of intentions, yet the situation had still turned out exactly the way I had tried to avoid. I felt like Oedipus, drawn into my fate as surely as could be.
On the way how, I put on some music and tried to clear my mind. Then I realized that clearing my mind was the opposite what I should do: I needed to allow this experience to wash over me, and to feel what I was feeling. Feeling…what was I feeling? Ashamed, hurt, embarrassed, angry…mostly like a fool. Jack was a person who rarely minced words, but still, there was something in what he said. I had intended the best, and was trying to implement a behavior that would be to everyone’s benefit. I though I had found the perfect solution, and then walked straight into wall.
All in all, I still feel badly about the whole thing. I will only go the park later than usual now, I will avoid the time when Jack and Friday are most likely to be at the park. Despite this, I am proud of one thing: that I faced the feelings instead of running away from them. Over time, I hope that doing this will get easier, and begin to reap benefits to my psyche, if not my dog park skills. And meanwhile, I think of Albie’s obsession and see my own: obsession over Jack’s words, and over my mistakes. I tell my mind to sit and stay, and praise it when it does so.