Classing the dog park
Every day, twice a day, John and I take Luke to the dog park down the road from our house. Not only is it a great place for Luke to run and play, it's also a great spot to people-watch. In the early mornings, there are the regulars: hardened, salt of the earth individuals who live and die by their dogs. These people understand that when you come to the dog park, you're going to get dirty; they wear old clothes, accordingly. They know the names and stories of the other dogs in the park, and they chat easily with other owners. In the late morning, you start to see people who seem to resent coming to the dog park. The clothes they wear are far from old; some even wear suits. Some bring books, hopeful that their dogs can entertain themselves and not bother them. They avoid any contact with other dogs or other owners, and chatting is out of the question. In the late afternoons and evenings, you see the college students: dude, where's my dog? They come with their goatees and tattoos, their halter tops and their short shorts. For the men it's a chance to look cool, for the women it's a chance to display their tans. They talk on their cell phones for ages, occasionally tossing a tennis ball or a frisbee for their expectant dogs. In the mornings, the regulars return, eager to take back their dog park for another day.
Oh, and then there are the people who drop their dogs off at doggie day care. We won't even talk about them.