We must walk to the end of our street and around the row of houses to get to the dog park. Well, I walk, the dogs like to run, it takes them about thirty seconds. Keeping them in check for the short walk is more bother than it is worth, but letting them run ahead puts them in danger of traffic, and into the park a full minute ahead of me. So I make them wait.
I train them to sit on the front lawn, vibrating with excitement, for the minute it takes me to walk to the end of the street and check for traffic. I release them with a whistle and watch as they explode off the lawn and run past me and into the park. It is a sequence we perform night after night. Tonight a man passes me as I whistle. I say good evening and turn to follow him.
The sound of two large dogs, running on pavement, makes a distinct sound. It is a sound that commands you to turn your head. If what you see is two Rottweilers, 190 pounds of muscle and teeth, running at you, and closing the distance fast, you will understandably feel, concerned. You may, in fact, shit your pants.
I cannot communicate anything in the two seconds it takes for the dogs to thunder past him. I only have time to laugh at his look of abject terror. Don’t judge me, it’s hilarious, but I feel bad, so I check my smirk and mutter an apology as I pass. I also add to my safety check list. Look for traffic, and for potential heart attack victims.
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