Marie Taylor, Ink

I arrive at the park and put my lawn chair in the shade of an oak tree along one of the walking paths that circle the dog park. A youngish girl with a beagle, its tail wagging vigorously, approaches. After they enter the fenced enclosure, the hound darts from one delectable spot to another as he records what dogs have already been here, their age, weight, species and recent meals.

The girl sits at the picnic table and talks on her cell phone while the dog bounces before her, impatient and ready to play. But no balls are thrown and so it barks and runs along the fence line trying to coax other passing canines into conversation.

After a few minutes the girl gets up, leaves the dog in the fenced enclosure and without a backward glance walks down the pathway. At first, the dog freezes in bewilderment; then it is frantic at being left behind. It runs back and forth along the fence looking for a way out, then leaps three, four feet high trying to jump over the chain links. It howls and barks. When the girl gets further away, the dog suddenly sits and is silent and trembling, its gaze riveted on her receding form.

Is she leaving him, I wonder, abandoning the dog in a place where perhaps someone else will come and take him home?  My concern mounts as I read the dog’s body language and I suddenly recognize an ancient drama being enacted. It is one universal to all tribal creatures – it is the anguish of the one left behind, abandoned.

Creatures of the lower orders are born ready for the struggle to survive but mammals, in particular, have longer childhoods in which the protection and guidance of the adults are needed. This dependency is perhaps the impetus that gave rise to the tribe, the flock, the herd in which members must hold together to survive.

The ultimate rejection – for it is in essence a death sentence – is the expulsion from the pack, the closing of the village gate, the turning away of the face. It is Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden. It is a miniature reenactment of that drama that I am witnessing with the dog and it pulls at my heart because I have participated in that story myself.

The first moments of our lives mark the separation from the security of womb and after that, our life’s journey is a series of meetings and separations. Who cannot remember being separated as a child from the parent and the terror that follows? Or as a parent, leaving a child in another’s care and hearing their cries at being left behind as we walk to the car?

Which role is more difficult to play – the one who moves on or the one who is left behind?  The wrench of separation strips away facades and roles and personas, leaving the emotions revealed and buzzing like hot wires under the skin. It is then we realize the truth of our hearts and discover that some endings are final.

But today, for this small dog, the ending is a happy one for after talking to another walker on the path, the girl turns around and returns to the dog park. The beagle is wild with excitement as she approaches and re-enters the fenced area. It jumps and circles her, barking with joy at the reunion. Soon another couple with a small dog joins them and play begins.

The park has busy boulevards on all sides and from my chair I hear the steady swoosh of traffic in the background against the more obvious rattle of skateboards, the swish of bicycle tires, the pong of tennis balls, the slam of car doors and chattering of small children. From the grassy knoll just behind me I can hear the slight snore of the street person who is sleeping with his arm around a small but alert dog who is his devoted companion.