In The Dog House

I'm not able to walk my dogs this week because I'm recovering from this asthma/cold thing, so I've been taking them to a local dog park for exercise.  This dog park is actually just an empty lot in between huge homes overlooking the Pacific in an exclusive neighborhood a few minutes from my house.  The gates to the park are always open but only residents are allowed entrance.  Dogs have special tags on their collars given by the neighborhood association.

Those of us who live on the "other side of the boulevard" frequent the park.  It's mellow, it's got a kick-ass ocean view, and we're all pretty civilized people so no harm, no foul, right?  Wrong. Lately, a man living in a huge Tuscan villa across from the park has installed a camera.  He installed it to ward off angry marauders who'd been vandalizing his house with toilet paper and eggs.  But now that the defacing has ceased, he's aimed his camera toward the park.  He must have some mighty powerful lens because how else would he know when a dog without proper collar tags has broken into the park?

Well, he knows.  Story has it that he sits by the camera all day waiting for prospective violators.  I believe it because minutes after I parked a private security company patrol car pulled up.  About five minutes later, most likely how long it took to run my license plate number, the officer called me to him.

"Excuse me, can you come over here a minute please?" he called to me from outside the gate.
"Me?"  I said.
"Yes, please."
I walked over to him quickly running through my head the white lies I'd practiced in case this scenario ever actually happened.
"Which dogs are yours?"  (Hmmn, how did he know I had more than one, I wondered?)
"The black lab and the chocolate," I replied.
"They don't have tags, M'am."
"Yes, I know.  I'm staying with someone in the neighborhood,"  I fibbed not realizing until later that having run my plates he knew exactly where I lived.
Nicely, as if he'd rather be handcuffing a burglar from someone's backyard than shooing people from a virtually empty dog park, "You're not allowed here without tags.  Didn't you see the signs?"

I felt like saying, "Yessir, I saw the signs but being from the other side of the tracks and all I never did learn how to read.  Sure are pretty, though."

Instead I said, "Okay, I'll leave."

He nodded his head, got into his patrol car and waited.  Waited for me to gather my hyper dogs, put on their leashes, give them water, gather my stuff, and return to the car.

The goody two shoes in me went home feeling shamed, as if I've been handcuffed, arrested and mug shots were taken for perpetuity.

I visit that park in the middle of the day when only a few residents are there.  The residents don't seem to mind.  We talk, our dogs play together, we all just get along.  So,what is the harm?

I've since heard this man owns a restaurant in town (where they charge $4 for a slice a pizza!) and he is hated by most of his neighbors.  Sad.

Sad for him, sad for me and the rest of us.
Don't we have more important things to worry about?  And I thought I was wasting my life away on blogging and twitter!


*Japan series to start on Monday! (If I say it,  I have to deliver it, right?  Way to fight writer's block - Go Fran!)