HELLO POLLY

When Polly and I go to the dogpark in Runyon Canyon, we don’t sit with the Dog Parkers. The Dog Parkers all sit together on the bench. The Dog Parkers know the names of all the other dogs and gossip about the “incident” the day before where Killer and Squiggle had a fight. The Dog Parkers bring bowls for water and toys for their dogs in case, I assume, the park itself is not entertaining enough.

I sit in the shade on the grass and Polly inevitably ends up sitting next to me. The Dog Parkers don’t sit on the grass because, as one told me, they think they’re sitting in dog pee. I check for poop and have yet to notice a wet lawn but otherwise I’m unconcerned. I sit far away from the DP’s because smoking is forbidden in the park and I somehow think an extra thirty feet keeps them from figuring out what I’m doing.

Polly will amble about and occasionally run after another dog but just as often will come and sit by me and watch everyone run around. At this point a DP often remarks “She sure loves you” as if her love is unnatural and I’d used drugs to control her mind. “Yes, she does.” I politely reply. Duh. A dog’s whole raison d’etre is to love it’s human. To get a dog to hate you, you have to be pretty fucked up.

“Hugh,” Polly will say to me. She calls me Hugh instead of daddy because of a teenage thing. “Aren’t they cute?”

“You mean the other dogs?”

“Yes. The dogs.”

Sometimes a Dog Parker will call across the grass, “What’s your beagle’s name?”“Polly!”, I’ll answer and they’ll call “Polly!” and Polly will look at me then look away as if they are speaking Chinese. Other times she’ll be across the field and I’ll call her name and her ears will perk and her tail will stand straight up. She’ll start running to me as fast as she can and the other dogs will join her and soon I am covered in Dog. We’re all rolling and laughing on the grass and I feel like one of them.

There’s a slight breeze, the park is quiet other than the occasional barking. Polly will sniff around for abit then sit and begin to whine. “Can’t we go now?”

“Go play with the other dogs!”

“Ugh. I played with them already. Can’t we go home?”

I roll my eyes as a frisky young daschaund comes bouncing up to us. “HEY! WHAT’S UP! WANNA PLAY? HUH?”

Polly looks away embarrassed before letting slip under her breath, “Uh, no thanks. Busy now.”

He stands on my leg and licks my face for a moment until Polly steps in. “Ok, ok. Party’s over. Keep moving, keep moving.”

I shrug my shoulders with a “What Can I Do?” expression and the daschaund slinks away.

“You could be a little nicer.”

“I smell their butts for god’s sake. I wagged my tail. What do you expect, cocktails?”

“I’m just saying...”

“Ok, ok. I’ll mingle.”

“Thank you.”

“Way over here...”

“Ok.”

“With the dogs...”

“See ya.”

“Flea infested, mud soaked animals...”

I stub my cigarette in the dirt and begin to stand. “Let’s go.”

“You think?”

“Polly?”

She goes limp when I lift her arms to attach her harness. “Yes Hugh?”

“You’re a piece of work.”

“So are you.”

“I know. Let’s go home.”

Her tail begins wagging and mine does too as we walk to the parking lot and get in our car.

1:33:39 PM    sro home /