Newsflash: It's Still Just a Dog

You know what scares me? No, way worse than clowns. Dog park people.

That’s right. But let’s be clear – I’m all for people who love their animals. Hell, let ‘em ride in the front seat, slap little bandanas with bones printed on them around their necks, and feed ‘em some bacon straight from your plate. Fine by me.

But do not let yourself waiver over the line into the Creepy Dog Park Person who rattles on about Pookie’s likes (e.g. strawberry fro-yo) and dislikes (e.g. Leno) for as long as the person next to you can stand it or until they punch you in the face. Whichever happens first (I’m going with the latter).

Take, for example, this cross-section of humanity that I stumbled across on my semi-weekly trip to the dog park. (NOTE: Mere attendance at the dog park does not qualify one for creepy status. Moving on.)

Let’s start with El Creepy Dog Park Guy:
- Appearance (7 out of 10 possible Creep Points) - Long, wavy, frizzed-out mullet topped by a Planet Hollywood baseball cap. Tie-dyed T-shirt stretched over rotund beer belly. Faded gray running shorts. Timberland’s (likely not for fashion, but for muddin’).
- Behavior (9 out of 10 possible Creep Points) - This guy’s M.O. was to pick up everyone else’s dogs’ droppings before we could get to them. How … odd.

Next we come to La Creepy Dog Park Gal:
- Appearance (8 out of 10 possible Creep Points) - Short, scraggly, I-dyed-this-mess-at-home-using-Chlorox-and-lemon-juice hair. Long, shapeless, faded sundress. No attempt at a bra. Deerskin slippers trimmed in beaver fur that kept attracting mulch bits, which she would then whack off with a stick.
- Behavior (14 out of 10 possible Creep Points) - She enjoyed screaming her dogs’ names with no regard for purpose or volume. As in, “CiCi!! BooBoo!!!” bellowed at 312 decibels, after which she would look around aimlessly (nowhere near her dogs) and titter to herself. It was almost as if she was trying to trick them, but they weren’t fooled. She had also ostensibly been taking Caninese language lessons, because she made valiant attempts to speak to all the animals in their own tongue. This hobby was made evident by her tendency to howl stridently at them and mimic their barks as they ran past her and toward their owners, terrified for their lives.

My own dog was noticeably embarrassed for them and came to me for comfort every time one of them would draw near. I tried to reassure her, but as I am not fluent in Caninese, I was depressingly unsuccessful.

Perhaps it’s time to find a new dog park. Or perhaps I needn't return to one ever, ever again.