Like many dogs, my golden retriever Rusty loves going to the dog park. This is rather unfortunate, as he has never been much to brag about. I may not have any education on how dogs play, how their little wrestling matches work—all the intricate ins and outs of the ordeal—but I can tell one thing: my dog is always losing.
I cannot describe the number of times I’ve had another owner walk up to me and ask, “so which one’s yours?”
It’s as if they are checking to make sure I’m not just some scout for young, promising, athletic dogs. If I was a scout, let me tell you, Rusty definitely isn’t being considered for the team. I always have to point out to these people that he’s the one “being dragged through the mud by that Doberman,” “humped on either end by that pair of doodles,” or “somehow stuck between those fence posts.”
It began to reach a point where I honestly just felt bad for my dog. I started fearing he may be abnormally weak and lacking the physical capability to win in any of these games.
So, over the past month, I put this guy to work. I had him doing push-ups, weighted walks and everything in between to make sure that he could perform to the utmost degree at that dog park. People walk by my now shredded dog and assume he has some type of health complication.
They started shouting out, “what’s wrong with your dog?” and I always got a good amount of pleasure getting to respond, “the only thing wrong with him is that he’s freaking jacked.”
Then the big day came—mine and Rusty’s return to the dog park. I released him, watching him run forth to showcase his new physical prowess. This was when I had a great moment of realization, as it didn’t take long to see that Rusty was still getting pummeled. As it turns out, this had been what he’d always wanted.
I mean, no wonder he always had the biggest smile on whenever we went there, knowing full well he was just about to get humped, trampled and tossed each time. I felt like a sports-parent that had taken things too far, pushed their kid too far without realizing what made my child fall in love with the game so much in the first place.
For Rusty, that was being humped, covered in mud and run all over by a bunch of smaller dogs. Now when people ask me which dog is mine, I don’t shy away.
“He’s the one enjoying himself,” I tell them with pride.
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