More barks!

Some of the beautiful barks in the parks come with tales but no tails.

Tumbling trees

While dog lovers are scrambling to avoid dogcops each day, the beavers in the park are having a heyday. I spotted four trees about to tumble, two of them at dog beach. Maybe scarce County resources could be used relocating these toothy critters and protecting the trees instead of harassing parkgoers and pups. Healthy sociability and harmless joy should have precedence over loss and destruction, wouldn't you think?

There's nothing to fear

When my friend Walter, who's always had his dog on leash or close to home, came to see what could possibly be so wonderful about this park he was astounded. It was a sunlit Sunday, warm enough to draw out thousands of bumblebees, peepers and pups. At least fifty dogs played along the creek, from bridge to bridge. "They all get along. I can't believe it. They all get along," I heard Walter mutter again and again. He'd expected to see melée, danger and heartstopping ruckus and instead saw, for two hours straight, nothing but companionable play and sheer joy.

I think that is part of the concern over dog parks, a mistaken notion that off-leash dogs will run amok, brutes terrorizing wimps, energetic breeds pounding lapdogs. That mistakes dog nature. When dogs have adequate room for sorting out their places in a crowd it takes them a tiny fraction of the time to establish rank, decide who'll play with whom and start to party down than it would take a group of fifty humans in a pub or a law office.

The snarling and bumping, the toothy snaps and throaty growls do not signify (as they might among twenty teenagers) dominance to the death. It's a lovely posturing and sorting out, showing a bit of personality before they go tearing off together in a wild romp. They all get along. Which, as Rodney knows, is a step up from the human predicament.

Good Dog is bad, Jamesville lets the wild out

For a couple of years I've heard about a dog park in Syracuse sponsored by Wegmans and this week had a chance to check it out; and we also tried the Jamesville leashfree park, recommended by my friend Dominique. The difference in their quality reflects the level of respect for dog behavior and an understanding of the need. Seeing them makes me appreciate Ellison all the more and enriches my understanding about the real requirements for successful dog-and-people settings for socializing and exercising.


Jamesville is barely developed turf. The entry grassway is shared with frisbee golfers who were, to a person, delighted with the dogs and unconcerned at the risk they might have to rescue a frisbee from a fast pup. The cooperation and shared pleasure was surprising (Ellison players are more intense, not always friendly). The path meanders on through a field with lots of brush and intriguing hillocks, wanders down the hill into some loose woods and runs alongside a fast-moving stream dotted with beaches. It's a delightful space that takes into account the need for dogs to roam, sniff, madly dash and take deepwater dips. It seems as if the world could be full of these small pockets set aside for easy off-leash walks.


On the other end of the spectrum, modeled after dense city play spaces, is the Wegmans Good Dog Park, built on the shore of Onondaga Lake. Knowing the location, I pictured a lush park at water's edge. Instead I found a prison exercise yard – a great rectangle of chain link, gravel, a couple of agility toys, a faucet and bucket for drink. No access to the lake, not much landscaping – a fairly sterile and unpleasant space for humans and other beasts. The dogs were baffled about how to have fun together, since there is scant room for opening up into full romp, no hills to climb or brush to dash through, no water space, no earthy surfaces for rolling, play bows and tussling. So they rushed one another, in short and boring jousts, then turned away. I saw more snarling and unpleasantness in my twenty minutes there than I have seen in twelve years at Ellison, and more befuddled dogs, just wandering. The people were constantly disintangling grumpy pups and had no time to chat. It is the antithesis of Ellison. This is a bad dog park, not a good one. And it didn't take long to turn really good dogs into bad ones. Though I appreciate Wegmans' investment, it appears the planners don''t know much about the beauty and soul of dogs and those who love them. Let's hope they expand it, opening it to more beauty, variety, a shoreline and water features, more pleasant corners. It's a start but not a finish.

As winter gives way

For a dog there is no bad day. All weather is a curiosity and a joy. Today there's deep snow for forging trenches and leaping and rolling; tomorrow offers ice, with hilarious skidding and body slams; another day, rain with its miraculous pools; sun brings tall weeds and delicious spring-grass salads. Dog companionship gets me out when I would have stayed in, and I see a world I might have missed. Here are a few pix of small Ellison miracles: trees with icy tutus as the flooding recedes and a little twig calligraphy when the sun hardens a soft snow.

Wetlands

Ellison, from the northern reaches by the bay to the southernmost tip on Penfield Road, is largely protected wetlands. Much of the year a great deal of the park is soggy, accessible only to those in tall boots and galoshes. The grasslands of summer are small swamps in spring and fall and skating rinks in the winter. The banks of Irondequoit Creek regularly overflow, covering even the raised paths in the Blossom Road section, making the entire park best accessible by canoe. Catfish are stranded in the grass when the waters recede. None of the pooled water is suitable for human swimming, and it precludes picnics and strolls, but it is a blessing for dogs and ducks. (Remarkably, they often play together in these ponds, and once my greyhound Spirit waded peacefully for half an hour among flirting mallards, who were far more interested in a spring date than in this curious, leggy beast.) This Sunday, the water was perfect for a grassy splash.

Ecosystem

Every ecology must deal with the mundane matters of material in and material out and a dogpark is no different. A couple of years ago when the Monroe County Park Director, Frank Alkofer, was working so cooperatively with the dog owners at Ellison (having discovered that his initial tough guy approach was a disaster), we had wonderful conversations about community values.

No dog owner mistakes the park for a latrine, but there was no real way to dispose of waste without carting it home in cars. And only the diligent were willing.

I carried a small trowel and buried what we left. Others brought bags. Nothing was systematic, though, and when a crew of us volunteered for spring clean up we filled a barrel with 200 pounds of waste. Now that's disgusting. Frank helped us set up six barrels (we asked for nine, but settled) at strategic points in the park. It cost almost nothing, since we used 55 gallon drums, and a PVC pipe with notches cut every eight inches held plastic bags which all of us brought from home. They worked beautifully except for the occasional vandal who set a bag on fire. It was a fairly good system and could have been improved with conversation and reflection, and shoes stayed clean.

To our befuddlement, at Frank's retirement his successor pulled out all but three of the tubs and tubes, causing an immediate increase in mess and muddle again. There are none at two major entry points and one missing in the middle.

Successful, civilized towns have put in dog parks of many acres, similar to Ellison, with hills for hiking, streams for splashing and superb systems for handling waste. The best use underground septic systems or composting set ups. We were on our way to such plans when Frank retired. It is dismaying to find ourselves back at the start. Rochester is a rich, varied community, able to support activities and sports from skiing to rollerblading, from softball to frisbee golf, and can certainly offer a well maintained offleash site for the thousands of us who walk dogs for community and recreation. I look forward to that epiphany. Those of us who romp our pups at Ellison have healthier canine citizens, properly socialized, less barky, more delightful, than those with dogs penned at home in isolation, desperate to do what dogs must, barking neurotically, anxious, ill, despairing.

There are far worse wastes than dog poo.

A better sign

Perplexing personalities

Those who spend no time with dogs might assume they've got a narrow range of behavior (eat, poop, bark, jump and fetch) and breed-determined personalities. At a dog park, each dog's singularity (I would say soul) emerges with distinct nuances of character and emotion, extended far beyond the concept of breed or the notion of "pet." The more observant human can see traits ranging from the hilarious to the horrifying in each dog, shaped but not limited by breed.

Meet three of the astonishing characters I see each day:



Stella is a pomeranian, weighs nine pounds. She's supposed to be fairly delicate, disinterested in long physical activity, a bit of a princess. Websites on pomeranians stress grooming and fragility. The first time she came to Ellison, I sat her down on the trail to Dog Beach, expecting recalcitrant, nervous reaction to the bounding large dogs. Here's what she did instead.

She streaked at the pace of a greyhound to the brink of the creek and bounded in, no hesitation, came up under the tennis ball the labs and retrievers were diving for, nabbed it and ran. The big dogs were stunned. They chased her but she wouldn't relent. Her ball.

Every day since, she has fetched every ball lobbed. Mid-air, mid-stream, as far as it can be thrown. She's mad for tennis balls. She can find one in the muck or the weeds within five minutes of our arrival at Ellison and will fetch and retrieve it five hundred times each walk. No one has ever seen anything like it.



Lacey is blind. Her breed is prone to eye problems and her owners willingly sought out her out as a rescue, knowing she was at risk of being put down. She plays with the dogs at the periphery of Dog Beach, not able to splash with the biggest without getting jostled, but perfectly capable of running after balls with milder pups, romping with them through the fields and waterways, finding her friends. She joins the other dogs at the call of "treats!" and has learned she'll get a nice chunk of chicken hotdog when she hears me call my pups, knowing they're rewarded when they come. She lines right up, finding me in a flash. She lives for the joys of Ellison, for the play every dog is meant for.



Emma is my friend. I didn't pick her. She chose me. If Paula, her person, drives by my street or past me in the park, Emma will howl until she's let free to run to me. She can see me from a mile away. She runs to me in the park, over hills, through brush, from one side of the creek to the other, and throws herself at my feet. Flings herself at my calves until I notice. Buries her head in my arms. I don't know why. She doesn't do it to anyone else, and Paula is as mystified as I. When Emma was freshly rescued, I gave her the usual skritches and treats, but no more than others. But if a new dog enters the beach, Emma runs to my side, ready to defend me if the newcomer is dastardly or rough. She intervenes if a quartet of rowdies threatens to bump into me. She is my humble protector and my loving friend. I've done nothing to deserve it and could do nothing to stop it.

Come meet these beasts at Ellison.

Dream a community big enough for all

For twelve years I've lived on the edge of Ellison Park, Rochester's only defacto dog park, a place of enormous pleasures, watching breeds of every sort romp together in the creek, the fields, woods, sandhills, ponds, trails and swamps. I have met a thousand people there, making light connections and lasting friendships, sharing the day's challenges and victories as we walk. We go, my dogs and I, in every weather, sliding on icy trails, shoving through showbanks, sucking our feet out of the inevitable spring muds, slowing our pace in the brutal summer sun, kicking through the bright crunch of fall.

Sometimes we are the only ones in the entire park when the weather's tough but most often there are other daring souls, bundled against the sharp cold or stripped to what the law allows in the stunning heat. And dogs. Hilarious, elegant, unbelievable dogs, each so different from the others. It is common to have fifty dogs of varied breeds, sizes, ages and skills playing together. Those who barely know the joys of dogs are astounded at first visit.

In these twelve years, I've seen only a few unexpected tussles, most well managed and quickly stopped. Day after day, teacup chihuahuas chase great danes, german shepherds fall in love with yorkies. Laughter and astonishment pepper conversations about daily travails, dogcare, the sorrowful moments when a beloved pet ails or dies.

Ellison is a outdoor community of richness and sharing. For many of us, the day's dog walk is a supreme pleasure, the finest moment of the day, and the community we've formed there is family. I know two hundred dogs by name and remember hundreds more who've been there and gone. We love our dogs and love our park and love one another. It may be the most joyous place in all of Rochester.

Scroll down for pix!