June 08, 2003
Dusty at the Bloor Street Festival, in reflection
10:00 p.m.
Today, Dusty and I headed down to the Bloor Street Festival to browse the art booths, eat ice cream, and people watch. Okay, okay...I was doing the first two, but she helped with the last.
She did great! She didn't bark for 4 and a half hours. Clearly, barking at people is something she only does as a territorial behaviour. She also took treats from lots of new people and even let a few of them pet her (she's such a snob!).
After an hour and a half, I had thoroughly checked out the street festival. Bloor Street was closed off all the way from Spadina to Bathurst and every conceivable entrance was closed to traffic by barricades. The crowds were busy, but not unreasonable. I decided that this was a unique opportunity to work on some training.
Dusty and I worked on sit-stays and down-stays up and down the street (on the sidewalk - I don't want her to get the idea that the street is a place to be). We did them near the music tent, where the crowd was rowdy and the noise level was high. We did them near the children's area, where the noise was raucous and the children were *everywhere*.
Actually, that was the best part. There were little kids running amok. Big kids, little kids and they were loud and unpredictable. Dusty did great, though! She only broke her stays a few times (and I think she only did it when she was genuinely worried that I was going to abandon her). Her down-stays were particularly good.
I was just finishing up the last sit-stay, figuring that she had done enough for the day. By this time, we had a small audience of people who wanted to see if the puppy would stay. Even a homeless man was cheering her on. Dusty's eyes were on me. A toddler waddled past laughing. Dusty stayed in her spot, only glancing at the passing pedestrians.
I released Dusty from her stay and called her to me. Simultaneously, I saw a dark shape speed past my right shoulder and veer in front of me. There was a squeal of breaks and shouting. Everything was in slow motion. My puppy was running desparately toward me because that's what I told her to do. The people who were watching gasped. Someone shouted a warning.
Then time sped up to the normal speed again. Dusty was in front of me. The dark shape resolved into a young man in a black t-shirt with white lettering that said (and I'm not making this up): "Drunk." He was riding a bicycle.
"Bitch." He said. "You should control your dog, bitch!"
I was angry. I started shouting at Mr. Drunk. I told him he was crazy to be riding on the sidewalk at all (it's illegal in the city), let alone at such a speed. Let alone in the middle of the busiest neighbourhood street festival of the year. I starting crying, despite my best efforts.
He kept shouting at me. "I don't care about your fucking dog, lady. You should control that dog." I explained that the dog was perfectly under control and I was in the midst of training her and he said: "You should train it in your goddamn living room then."
I was speechless. Fortunately for me, I had an audience. I was surrounded by a posse of Angry Little Old Ladies. They actually stepped in between me and Mr. Drunk. They started berating him. He couldn't take it, got back on his bike and *rode* down the sidewalk, scattering pedestrians in his wake. Unbelievable. What if he had rode into a two-year-old human? Little kids can't move as fast as dogs. Sheesh!
When I looked down, I realised that Dusty was at my feet, patiently waiting for her cookie. After all, she *had* come, even if there was a big fuss going on. I gave her several cookies and told her what a GOOD girl she was. I hugged her and tried not to cry too much, because the Angry Little Old Ladies, who were no longer angry, were fussing over us. A man who was standing nearby told me, "Some people are just angry." And then: "Your pup looks scared."
At first, I was concerned that Dusty was frightened. I held her on my lap and stroked her head. She calmed down right away as soon as she saw that I was calm. After the incident, I showed her bicycles to gauge her reaction. I asked some teenagers to walk their bicycles back and forth on a sidestreet while Dusty watched. She was interested, but not alarmed. As we walked along, she sniffed at food dropped on the sidewalk and even turned at one point and licked a man's leg (!).
Finally, Dusty and I walked down to my favourite stationary store and sat on a step in front. It was shady and the airconditioning flowed from the open door. Dusty settled into my lap and went to sleep. She didn't seem very concerned about anything in particular. That's when I started to wonder if this incident, so traumatic to me, was part of the general din to her.
This is one of those times that I would just love to get into my dog's head. Was Mr. Drunk and his bicycle just one more chaotic event of the day? (Along with the rollerblader that nearly ran over us, the toddler who pulled on Dusty's tail and the five minute sit-stay while I looked at an art booth?).
As I was sitting here pondering this, a man approached and asked me about my dog. He asked if he could pet Dusty and to my surprise, she allowed him to. He sat down. As he petted, a story poured out of him. He lost his cat last year - the kitty was 20 years old. He held his old friend until the very end, in the vets office. It was the hardest moment of his life. He missed his old kitty but was adopted by two new cats. He trained horses up north. By the time he finished his story, the three of us were friends and we introduced ourselves.
He said good-bye and I knew that he had just restored my faith in the goodness of people. It had momentarily lapsed. I had even stopped trusting myself. Dusty never doubted me for a second though. But there I was, sitting here on the sidewalk, questioning whether I should have come to the festival, whether I should have tried to train Dusty in that environment - was I a good dog mom? I was having my own little pity fest.
Fact is, whenever I walk out the door with my dog, I'm taking a chance. I think I've become a bit smug. Just because I've taught her never to walk onto the road without the command 'cross' (and a 'sit' on the curb) doesn't mean that an accident is out of the question. Just because I checked out the environment of the festival and determined that a sidewalk smack in the middle of it was safe, doesn't mean that a surly guy in a dumb t-shirt won't do something stupid.
On one of my email lists, I read a post about a rescue dog who had spent his first six months in a condominium. He had been taught to use a litter box. He had never been outside that condo. He ended up at a the humane society because of his behavioral problems. You can't hide your dog away. All you can do is teach your dog to handle new situations and behave appropriately.
Dusty stayed. She came when called. She dodged a bicycle to do it. And when the dust had cleared, she was sitting patiently at my feet. The outcome couldn't have been better.
And by the way, we had LOTS of fun at the street fest! Really! After we had our break, we walked over to watch the kids play games. We listened to some jazz and saw a very funny busker. He did all the usual juggling and balancing act, but he was especially good at involving (and making fun of) the audience. After his show was over, we walked over to give him a loonie or two. He was holding out a hat and telling the crowd "I take five, tens, twenties are good. US$s are fine, folks." (he slapped a twenty on his forehead and lauded the contributor). Then he looked at me. "But sorry, not dogs!"
That's okay, mister, I think I'll keep her! :-) I put some money in his hat and laughed all the way home.
Mirror, Mirror...