My philosophical quandaries often come from interactions I have (or observe others having) while at the city dog park. This week has left me a feeling unsettled due to two interactions between myself and one man. To begin, I’ll say that the dog park is like my backyard; I live in an apartment and my dog Pearl and I go the three blocks just about every day so that she can say hi to her friends, especially Bob, who gives her treats. Bob is one of Pearl’s first human friends–it only took her about a year to accept him as a friend. For the year prior to this acceptance, Pearl was skeptical and kept her distance because she’s afraid of men.

This week was a rainy one and few people showed up with their dogs at the usual time. While watching Pearl investigate the empty park, I watched as a car parked, a man walked toward the dog park entrance without a dog. I stood near the gate because I know Pearl well. She is not a fan of 1. men, 2. people who come into the park without a dog, and 3. any sort of barrier. On cue, Pearl began barking at the man, who now stood inside the area between the outer and inner gates; the place where, if he’d had a dog, he would be taking off its collar before entering the main park.

The man glared at me. I assured him that Pearl is friendly, she just really hates that barrier and that once he was through the gate, she would be able to relax. What I got back was unexpectedly angry. “It looks like an untrained dog to me.” The man continued to stare at me until I said, “You could use the other entrance.” To which he replied, “Why should I? I have as much of a right to be here as anyone.” Then he walked through the gate and Pearl jumped to his hip. “Get your damned dog off of me.” I corralled Pearl and said, “Dogs pick up on your aggression.” The last thing I heard him say as he touched his thumb and forefinger together, “Dogs brains are this tiny. They don’t know anything.” Steaming, but not wanting to engage any more, I encouraged Pearl to walk to the other end of the dog park with me. As the man returned to his car and entered the street traffic, he slowly passed by while raising a finger in my direction.

Next, on another day, while at a nearby coffee shop with a friend, I watched this very man, with his Service Dog (a Rottweiler) say goodbye to the barista and my thought was, “Oh, he has a service dog, I can see that this dog may be of some help to him.”

Today, while Pearl and I were at the dog park alone two things happened at once: this man parked, got out of his car, and walked his dog to the fence while a regular dog park visitor made his way to the gate with his two large Huskies. Pearl barked at the man and his unfamiliar Rottweiler and I calmed her down and held her as the men took turns entering the park. The man with the Rottweiler said to me, “If you push down on her rump, she won’t do that anymore.” Thanking him for his advice, I walked with Pearl to the other end of the park. Pearl investigated the park with the Huskies while their owner and I chatted. The man with the Rottweiler stood against the fence for about 5 minutes. Then he came towards me and from a distance of about 20 feet said, “I remember you from the other day when your dog jumped on me.” I acknowledged him with eye contact, nodded and thought, ‘okay Jaqui, get ready to be kind and friendly because I think this man is about to acknowledge his responsibility in our first interaction days before.’

Instead, the man stared with flashing eyes, and pointed at me saying, “That day my friend was in the hospital and nearly died.” There was a pause because I didn’t reply, I just watched him. He angrily put the leash on his dog and exited the park. Not wanting to see another raised finger from him, I stood with a tree between the parking area and myself. I comforted Pearl until I was sure the man had driven away.

What I haven’t described (because I’m attempting objectivity) is how angry this man was–it came out of his pores; it was visible. I also haven’t described my physical reaction to our exchange, which was a minor panic attack (throat constricting, heart racing). I knew Pearl would pick up on my demeanor, if not also this man’s angry stance (hence the keeping her close by and comforting her).

So what I’ve been sorting out since this exchange are these questions: Why do people have to share their anger, and why at a dog park? Why do people who think dogs have tiny brains and don’t read human emotion and behavior have dogs? Why do people come in to a dog park and not expect to potentially be jumped upon by dogs? Why was this man so clearly still angry at me for the first interaction? And why does having a friend in the hospital explain poor behavior and anger toward strangers?

Follow up questions I have asked are: Why did I react so strongly? Why did I panic? What am I afraid of? Why did I let a stranger’s anger affect me? Why am I still thinking about all of this? Why do I feel such anger toward this stranger whose friend was recently in the hospital?

What I think is: I have a distaste for conflict, I am fearful that someone like this will entice Pearl to nip them and then turn me in for having a dog that bit a human, I don’t think it’s fair for such anger to be out running rampant and I think people use excuses to explain their anger toward perfect strangers. I’m also feeling upset that I am allowing someone else’s anger to color my entire week.

The truth is also this: I’m weary of attempting to understand everyone else’s reasons for their anger toward me; trying to see things from the other’s point of view; understanding where they are ‘coming from’. I’m feeling weary in this area because I sometimes feel as if others are not making the same attempt to understand or listen to me and my views. It really does come down to not feeling heard, but instead being trampled.