Tucson is for the dogs

By Ryn Gargulinski
A true Tucson highlight is its special parks where you can watch playmates frolic, yelp, body slam, race and bite at each other’s ears.

No, it’s not a playground for the criminally insane – it’s the dog park.

These city necessities give ground for graceful canine exercise and allow them
to vent enough energy in public so they don’t come home and chew up your couch.

Think of it as Romper Room, but with teeth.

On any given day, from one to 15 folks, which can easily equal four to 54 dogs, use the seven or so dog parks around town. The Reid Park location is even being moved, expanded and renamed after a crime fighting canine.

While some rules are posted, like not showing up with a dog that is sickly, rabid or dying and city code 4-102 that demands you promptly dispose of dog waste, some dog park etiquette doesn’t blaze from a sign but comes in the form of common sense.

One of the primary rules is to ask all you want about the dog – the name, age, diet, number of operations, favorite chew toy, why he only has three legs – but don’t pry into the life of the owner. Thus we can discuss how well Ticonnie is doing in obedience class, Sawyer’s surgery after eating rocks and how Zane the Great Dane really hates the heat – but asking personal people stuff is often looked down upon.

So is not keeping an eye on your dog. There are plenty of horror stories from a friend of a friend of a sister-in-law of a hairdresser whose dog’s neck was ripped open by a ferocious, unwatched beast. One woman, who owns Abby, the cutest little pooch about the size of a shoe, said she heard owners take their pit bulls to the Sixth Avenue location to teach them how to fight.

As my own dog makes us visit that park daily, I’ve yet to see the pit bull mosh pit. I have, however, witnessed a couple of fights break out, as they are wont to do, which are quickly dispelled by watchful owners.

I was once bitten breaking up one of those fights. I would have sued but, alas, it was my own frightened dog that bit me.

Facing forward is another good rule. The owner of Buddy, a dog who barks at women with short, red hair and glasses, said he saw a 30-something woman turn her back on a gaggle of racing canines only to be broadsided from behind.

“She flew at least six feet in the air,” he said, “and landed right there.” He pointed to the cement under the pavilion. I looked for signs of trauma but only saw water sloshed out of a bucket by Sawyer, who dunks his paws forcefully and methodically in anything filled with liquid.

Another woman, who owns a black and white dog name Jane, booked to the picnic table when a horde of dogs came zooming in her direction.

“I watched one woman get her knee blown out,” she explained, promptly plopping down with her knuckles clenched to the bench.

“It’s the dog park,” the owner reminded, as Buddy barked in my direction.

Another bad move was the family of eight who showed up at the Reid Park location with a feast from the nearby McDonald’s. Not only did their French fries go galloping away, but they actually acted surprised and angry when they were circled by a horde of hungry hounds.

Buddy’s guy said he saw a family come to picnic at the dog park – and they didn’t even bring a dog. “I don’t know if they were from out of town or what,” he said.

Other minor mishaps have included people who bring toys that are easily destroyed and become shocked when they are easily destroyed, those upset over paw prints on their crisp white pants or getting beaned in the head with a tennis ball.

“They didn’t mean it,” I thought I heard one man who owns a Doberman say as my ears rang and the kids who had apparently thrown the ball tried to hide behind a tree.

“You gotta expect things like this,” he added. “It’s the dog park.”