Sunday at the Dog Park

"If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together."

– African Proverb

February was cold in Colorado.  So last Sunday, when the temperature hit sixty degrees, I headed to the dog park with my girl Reese. 

I love the dog park.  This one is at Cherry Creek Reservoir, set far enough on the prairie that you can see the entire Front Range. For those unfamiliar with Colorado, the Front Range is the easternmost section of the Rocky Mountains. From here, I can see from Mt. Blue Sky (formerly Mt. Evans) to Pikes Peak—which SHOULD be known by its original name, Tava, since Zebulon Pike never actually reached its summit. The distance to drive between the two is 141 miles, and it’s incredible to stand on the plains and see them both.

The sky is a brilliant blue.  Denver is known as the “Mile High” city, because it sits one mile above sea level.  The sky here IS bluer than other places in the world due to the thinner atmosphere.  Which also means less oxygen, so it’s a little harder to breathe.  And it is easier to get a sunburn, especially early in the season.  But here we are, Reese and me, enjoying the blue sky and sunshine and warmth. 

As I let Reese off her leash, I observe the “dog park” community.  There are the dogs and there are humans.  Today, there are dogs with three legs, a blind dog in a special harness, a dog with “doggles” that have bright pink reflective lenses and a purple Frisbee in his mouth that he was NOT putting down.  Dachshunds trying to keep up with German Shepards, a family with three Great Danes (Reese always tries to hide from them - not an easy feat on the flat prairie), exuberant puppies and cattle dogs trying to herd everyone. 

Dogs that never leave their owner’s side and dogs that run away from them as fast as possible. Especially when the owner nears the gate to leave, leash in hand.  Big and small, young and old, not one of them without a look of pure joy on their snout.   Interacting with each other, sniffing, playing, running.  Saying hello to everyone. 

There is a big river that runs through the park and some dogs leap in with abandon, no matter how cold the water.  Others stand on the rocks and consider it, but watch with enthusiasm and maybe a little envy at the bravery of their brethren.  Reese jumps in, lays down, and is wet from head to tail.  There is a mud pit on the other side of the park, close to the exit.  She also lays down in there every time.  Someday I will learn to reverse my route and do the mud pit first so she can rinse off in the river for the ride home.  

The human community is quite different.  There are babies in strollers, young children running wild, people walking or running, either on their own or with walkers and canes.  Some people are dressed as if it is still winter, in heavy coats and hats, while others are in shorts and tank tops.  Some are there alone.  Others stroll hand in hand, deep in conversation. 

Many are not looking at the Rocky Mountains OR their own dogs, but are engrossed in their phones, headphones in, unaware of the birds singing or the horses from the neighboring stable softly speaking to each other.  They are usually the ones that pretend to not see their dog poop and, therefore, think they have an excuse for not picking it up.  We don’t like them.  Some people look you in the eye and nod hello.  Others, their gaze never leaving the ground, are lost in their own world.  Unlike the dogs, not every human has a look of pure joy. 

The one thing both dogs and humans have in common is their story.  They all have one.  I know from Reese’s history that not every dog has a great start.  Yet even the ones with three legs, blind, or needing “doggles”, still have joy on the agenda.  Hesitant sometimes, but willing to run up to the other dogs and say hello, come on, let’s play.  If the rampant sniffing going on is any indication of conversation, they are talking up a storm.  It’s a love fest.

I wonder why the humans can’t be more like the dogs.  More willing to say hello and interact.  You can almost see the wheels turning as they walk past.  Not noticing the day or the view, simply somewhere else.  I have no knowledge of their story, but I feel a strong need to reach out a hand and let them know they are not alone, no matter what is happening.  For now, a nod and a smile, occasional small talk, will have to suffice. 

Community has been on my mind this week.  It is what helped me find sobriety.  Finding a group helped me realize that I am NOT alone.  Not in my drinking, not in my story, not in my struggle.  This week, working with a fabulous group of women, we finalized the logo for a new community; the SOS Collective, an international group of women who meet online for sobriety support.  While the history of this group involved struggle and change, the gratitude I feel for where we are today is immense. 

It is my fervent wish that this new community will help many. The way finding a group of trusted women has helped me change my life.  Getting sober was only the first step.  The gifts of community are endless.  Constantly learning about myself and my life from the stories shared in meetings.  Most women not even acknowledging or knowing that they possess such wisdom and grace, but the rest of us benefitting every time they speak. 

Finally, we are back at the car.  Reese is all toweled off and bundled in the back seat.  I take a moment to look around and am filled with gratitude for this beautiful day. The sun, the warmth, the joy.  And I send out a small prayer to anyone struggling and hope that they can also find a community that will hold them as they navigate this impossible journey called life.  Being human is the hardest job any of us will ever have, but it is so much easier if you can share it along the way. 

If you need sobriety support, please join us.  Reach out to [email protected].  We would love to hear your story and your wisdom at our next meeting.