Our “old dogs.” We raised Sheba from a puppy until a stroke severely debellated her ability to move. Despite her early life trials, Harlie was a twice rescue dog who lived the last 15 years as the “traveling dog” (that never went anywhere) from our couch. Both have passed away but left an indelible paw print on our hearts.

While visiting our son and daughter in Minnesota, we decided to take the rambunctious dogs to the doggy park outside Rochester. When I say rambunctious, I am being kind to Bella (our son’s dog), who is always quick with excitement from the puppy attitude that still dominates her brain despite her size. Our daughter also owns a Sarplaninac dog named Maya. The two dogs are sisters, both are still puppies, and whenever the two large fluffy dogs get together, all hell tends to break loose. Hence our trip to the doggy park.

Rochester understands dogs. Their dog park is top notch with a swing gate entrance, separate from the main area allowing you to unleash the dog while they are still in a small enclosed space. Immediately inside the compound are water and bowls, garbage bins, and storage bags to gather up the puppy poop. Benches and picnic tables exist around the park; however, it is hard to imagine a soul brave enough to bring food into the main park area.

A third of the running area has wood shaving, buried balls, and sticks. The sticks come from another third that is tree covered. The brush is cut back to allow the dogs to run through the trees. The other third of the park is covered in grass.

Maya, Bella, and Stella (a tiny black dog) hit the park on the run, pure joy at the freedom of being outdoors. Soon another gentleman shows up with his dog, and the games begin. Maya is the show-off and wants everyone to chase her; Bella wants to be part of the group, while Stella tries to avoid being stepped on.

Another car pulls up, and two more dogs exit the vehicle. All the dogs stop and watch as the new pets approach the park. Then, another medium-sized white dog, probably still a puppy herself, and an old dog enter the park. The puppy joins the crowd as new balls are found, and new sticks enter the arena.

The old dog wanders for a few minutes watching the puppies zip past him in both directions. Soon he walks over to the table where we sit and buddies up for some back scratches and ear rubs. The young dogs run, and the old dog keeps moving between the three of us, getting loved on and wagging his tail.

Soon even the young dogs are tired, and one by one, the dogs and their masters depart the playing field. I marvel at the old dog as he makes a final pass for one last pat on the head or a hind quarter scratch. The old dog is in no hurry to leave the park but finally wanders back to his owner, who is waiting by the exit gate. Of all of us here this day, I think the old dog left the park the most rewarded and fulfilled.

Written July 27, 2022