3.2.22

When I picture Teddy Roosevelt I think of Robin Williams in Night at the Museum. 

There was this period of an hour or so this evening between 5:15pm and 6:15pm when things felt different. H and I got to the dog park and immediately this little girl with long black hair braided in two braids, but one braid was undone, so she had wavy, loose hair on half her head and a braid on the other came up to us and asked if H wanted to play. We had seen this girl and her mom and her dog yesterday walking out of the dog park and the girl had asked if she could pet our dog. Today when she asked to play, I said yeah and then H said yeah. “What do you want to play?” She asked. H looked around. She waited expectantly. Her mom sat in a plastic chair close by. “There are all these dogs to play with.” I gestured around the bustling dog park. “Yeah, ok.” The two kids floated away into the sea of animals. I squatted next to the mom and pet their auburn puppy, “what’s your dog’s name again?” “Clifford.” she said. “Ah right, your big red dog.” “How olds your daughter?” “she’s turning 5.” My eyes almost popped out of my head, I’m sure. “Wow! She’s so articulate and smart. Amazing.” The mom smiled warmly. “How old’s yours?” “I’m the nanny–” “--oh you’re the nanny–” “but they’re soon to be 10.” We looked out at the two kids bopping around in the mix of dogs and on-lookers. “They’re so cute. She’s half their age and half their height.” We talked about nannies. It’s such intimate work. A real gray area. She doesn’t have a nanny. 

I’m getting too tired to finish this story now, but in a nutshell: Clifford couldn’t stop humping H while H was pretending to be tied to a tree. So H was just standing there in front of this tree with their hands behind their back, getting humped enthusiastically by the big red dog. I beckoned for H to come over and they said they couldn’t because they were tied up. Eventually the mom felt embarrassed enough to go over to them and get the dog. She brought it back to where we were sitting. But a few minutes later the dog made its way back to H’s legs. He really couldn’t stay away. H and I kept making eye contact and laughing. After a few more minutes of relentless humping we both went over and she leashed Clifford.

“What were you playing when you were tied up?” “Police.” “Hmm” The mom looked at her kid and said “Baby V, how come H was tied up this whole time and only you got to be the police?” Then all of a sudden, this young woman standing near us grabbed this mid sized blonde, short haired dog with pointy ears and two different colored eyes, by the collar and shouted “WHO”S DOG IS THIS? SOMEBODY GET YOUR DOG.” The dog had a muzzle on and a large patch of tape covering its left rib cage. Nobody said anything. I turned and looked and everyone in the dog park, like 25 people had turned to look at this woman holding this dog by the collar. The woman yelled again. Nobody said anything. “Maybe someone just dropped it off here” The mom said.

The young woman started walking across the dog park holding the dog by the collar and yelling, “WHO”S DOG IS THIS? SOMEBODY GET YOUR DOG” This white dude with a large brown beard and overalls went up to her and said, “What’s going on with the dog, it’s not my dog, but–” she started saying something to him and he said “It’s not my dog.” The woman left the dog in the center of the dog park and walked back to the corner where we were. And then the dog’s actual owner appeared, this middle aged man with some sort of European, maybe Israeli accent. Then this blonde guy with botox wearing skinny true religions and flip flops walked across the dog park towards the woman, full TMZ mode and said  “Now the actual dog owner appears. It’s the guy in the red shirt.” The woman walked over to the man and started yelling at him saying that his dog was bothering her dog. The dog owner sort of brushed it off. “It’s a dog park.” The woman eventually walked back to the sidelines. The blonde guy kept walking between the woman and the dog owner, talking to both of them. “God some people are such instigators. Look at him, he's going between both of them.” The mom nodded toward the blonde guy. As he walked by us he called out to his dog, “Hashtag! Hashtag! Come here baby!”

We eventually left the dramatic scene. 

A few blocks later as H and I crossed the street to Castle, the car that we pass everyday with the license plate ZA ZOOM in the driveway of the house that has the life size cutout of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in their front window started spontaneously alarming. Nothing seemed to have caused the alarm. It lasted for 30 seconds or so and then stopped. An old asian man opened the door and peered out, seeing no cause for the alarm, he closed the door.