White Trash at Flat Rock

 So, is this exciting or what? I got my first hate comment on this blog. That means: a. it’s reaching people and b. they are reading. Way cool.

 Too bad the commenter missed the whole point of the story and had a misspelling to boot..

• Your pointless blog will no doubt lure other dog owners and their dogs to this once-peaceful sanctuary, making it less of a sanctuary and more of a social microcosm of society complete with people and dog heirarchies, snubs, and social pyramids – none of which we need to subject ourselves or our dogs to in the setting of nature. Go find a dog park somewhere to play in and leave those of us who want to enjoy the serenity and wholesomeness of Flat Rock with our dogs alone!

In fact, I am a true believer in live and let live. All of the social (mis?)-interaction that occurs in this fiction is a reflection of our society just as she says. But the point is – it’s ridiculous. If 5 or 6 dog walkers at a time can’t find a way to co-exist peacefully for half an hour a day on hundreds of acres of public access land there is something seriously wrong with our “society.” Yeah, it would be nice if only the people and dogs you personally liked were there at any given time, but it’s not a reality unless you purchase your own acreage and prosecute trespassers. If you can afford, go for it.

Seriously though, this story and her reaction exemplifies how people in this overcrowded world fail to acknowledge there’s room and indeed a need for many different folks. Look at what’s happening at Whalom in Lunenburg. Developers are busy squeezing condo “units” on a parcel of land across the street from Whalom Lake. The plan thus far is to build two bedroom units so families won’t move in and demand services from the town. The Whalom lake shore has been a popular “destination” for area residents since the F and L Street Railroad built the amusement park a century ago. A colony of bars sprung up and still seem popular despite the closing and demolition of the park, lending the area a Hampton Beach feeling. Families gather at the fence to fish and enjoy the lake, play car radios and generally hang out. If I have time, I’ll stop, sit in the car and eat a sandwich between jobs.

The developers want to see that end. There’s about 75 parking spaces now. Their stated desire is to have less than 20 spaces and improve the “green space.” A laudable goal – at least to service the residents of the condo “units” who, incidentally, will not own the street or the lake at least to my knowledge. Heaven forbid they will see any people “not of our class, dear” near their “units.”

The strip is not pretty, but has its charm and many use the area much to the likely chagrin of these potential condo dwellers. It’s kind of like the people who used to build a McMansion in the pastoral country side and then complain about the agricultural smells and noises. As you can imagine, my heart goes out to them. Not.

It’s my guess those families who fish will be “whistling Dixie,” there will be a rash of complaints about the bars and one more accessible waterfront will become the bailiwick of a few.

BTW the information about the Whalom development comes from my recollection of recent stories in the Fitchburg Sentinel and Enterprise. I did not fact check them. Also – condos and the way they are run are sort of scary. Remember the cult 60s TV show “The Prisoner?”

The next chapter in the Life of Dolly 

“You’d never believe,” I said to Peter and Wendy one day. They’re always good for exchanging a little dirt.

“Ken sat beside that woman who hates me at a lecture. He said he talked with her for almost an hour about what good dogs pit bulls are. For an hour,” I emphasized.

“Leave it to Ken to be nice to Crazy Lady,” Wendy groused. “It won’t do any good, she’s nuts.” 

“I’m sure it did no good. She already said Bubba was not a problem. Why doesn’t she just walk in another area? It’s not like there’s a shortage of trails. What do we use, a mile and a half out of at least twelve?” I asked.

“She loves the thrill,” Wendy claimed. “Why else would she come up here if she’s afraid of dogs? No one should come here if they are afraid. She gets off on it.” 

Peter was quiet. He kept an eye on Kody and meandered along the trail. Kody doesn’t believe in excess movement. Dolly was plowing through the woods at top speed, periodically barging in front of Star to see if he would play. Star was trying desperately to preserve his standard poodle dignity. 

We humans were all in our summer dog walking finest; sloppy tee shirts, knee length shorts and scruffy sandals. Each person had a leash wrapped around his or her neck and each dog sported just a collar. No fancy bows or outfits on this crew. 

“Well,” Peter finally said, dragging out the “l” sound. “Ken should sleep with her. That’s what she wants.” 

“Peter!” Wendy reprimanded him. 

“I think Ken’s wife might put the kibosh on that,” I said. 

“No, I bet she wouldn’t mind,” Wendy chirped. 

We considered this in silence for a few steps. None of us were in a committed relationship. None of us particularly seemed to mind our single state. 

“I gave up men,” Peter said. “I’m celibate. It’s a lot easier.” 

“Sure,” I commiserated. “Who needs men if you have a dog?” 

Wendy didn’t weigh in on that discussion. She had other things on her mind. 

“Look. Those stupid people were up here again,” she said. 

“What stupid people?” I asked. 

“Those ones who come up with their kids and go swimming. They leave poopy diapers all around,” she said. “Right where we send the dogs in swimming. It’s posted. Henry gets really mad at them when they go in the water.” 

Wendy often uses the authority of Henry to prove her points. He’s a dog-loving employee of the city water department. His business card lists him as reservoir security. 

“They are idiots,” Peter agreed. “I was really mad at that guy. I told him. They have a pit too.”

 “That doesn’t mean they are bad,” I said, ever aware of slights against pit bulls in general.

 “Oh, the dog is fine,” Peter said. “It’s him.”

It seems like everyone has a digital camera now. They are wonderful for taking huge numbers of pictures of other couples when you travel. For the freelancer, they offer the option of easily including photographs with your articles. Your editor will love you. Even if you are not an accomplished photographer, you should be able to get something useful simply through the number of pictures you can take. These inexpensive, lightweight cameras usually do just fine in as long as the lighting is good and the subjects are static. Taking pictures of moving scenes can be a challenge because sometimes there is quite a lag between when you press the shutter and when the camera takes the photo. Perhaps the camera is thinking. Ever so slowly.

1. Make sure the batteries are fully charged. Some don’t last very long, especially if it is cold.
2. Leave it on the automatic setting. If the picture requires anything but that, it is probably beyond the abilities of the $89.99 special you bought at the box store anyway.
3. Just accept that you will need to take your photos in well-lit areas. It can require thousands of dollars worth of equipment for lighting to take a good photo in less than ideal situations.
4. Download your photos to your computer frequently. Create carefully named folders for each date, topic or locale so you can find what you are looking for at a later time. The camera creates files with names like IMG102556 and IMG103554. Even if you figure out how to preview them, it can take forever to find that shot you were looking for without some clues.
5. Never ever send emails with huge picture files. You’ve received them; those emails that take 45 minutes to download on your expensive broadband and turn out to be 5 blurry photos of your aunt’s cat. Some email programs will reduce the file sizes for you.
6. Consider learning to use a photo editing program like Photoshop Elements. Graphic programs have a steep learning curve in general, but I’ve found the courses at ww.lvs.online to be helpful. They are also cheap.
7. Don’t drop the thing or let the dog get it.

“I got a call from Suzie last night,” Ken said to me one morning as the pit bulls fought to the death over their stick. It was a good stick; it looked thick enough to last for at least 5 minutes.

“Oh, what did she have to say?” I asked. I knew Bubba counted the dog officer as one of his facebook friends. Ken liked to say he had the best-connected dog in Fitchburg.

“She got eight calls yesterday complaining about the pit bulls up here.”

 “But why? Nothing has happened.”

‘The caller told her Dolly was the problem. She also mentioned you by name.”

“Who was it? Did she say? Did she say anything about Bubba?”

Ken answered the most important query first. “The caller said Bubba was a good dog. It was just that Dolly and Anne.”

I groaned. “It must be that woman who Dolly took the glove from. She knows my name. Is that who it is?”

“She didn’t leave her name. Suzie said she left eight messages before work yesterday.” 

“It must be her. She’s whacked,” I said with all the aplomb of a frustrated social worker.

“Errr. Errr.” The dogs echoed my frustration. Of course they were just playing tug with no concern for larger social issues.

“She knows me too,” Ken said. 

“Yeah, but she said Bubba was okay,” I countered. “I’d better call Suzie today.”

 How could Suzie not be able to identify a caller? “Doesn’t the city have caller ID?” I wondered. “I would think so,” Ken said.

“As far as I’m concerned you are doing everything ight,” Suzie the dog officer told me the next day.

 “Your dog is licensed and vaccinated. You have her under control.”

 “Well, mostly,” I hedged. “She’s still learning.”

 “I might go walk somewhere else for a few days, let things calm down,” I thought out loud.

That’s a good idea, just for a few days,” Suzie said.

“Ken said you didn’t have the lady’s name. Don’t you have caller ID in the city?” I can be a little obsessive when I want.

 “She had a blocked number.”

“I think I know who it is,” I said. “That woman who works at the museum. She’s afraid of Doll. I don’t know her name though. She knows mine.”

 “Yeah, I know,” Suzie harumphed. “Try to get her license number. I’ll track her down.” Suzie instructed.

A week later Suzie showed up at Flat Rock in the animal control truck. The dogs were all happy to see her. She must give off good dog vibes.

 “She’s following me around,” Suzie said. “She called my supervisor to say I wasn’t doing my job.”

 “Is she threatening you? Are you afraid she’ll do something?”

 “Oh, no,” the five foot nothing dog officer declared. “I have police training.”

 “Her son had to take a restraining order out on her to keep her away from his kids. They won’t let her pick them at school,” Wendy told us.

 “Do we know it’s her?” I asked. The dour golem-like woman was starting to take on epic proportions.

 “I’m trying to get her license plate number,” Suzie said. “My supervisor told her unless she left her name and number we couldn’t do anything for her.”

 I marveled. When did the woman find time to make all these calls? She sounded in desperate need of a life.

 “I’ve been up here a few times. I know everyone will vouch for Dolly being a good dog,” Suzie said. “Everyone up here likes her. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

 Dolly was doing her hardest to charm. She hadn’t moved more than a few inches from Suzie’s leg since we started talking. Did she realize she was in the eye of a storm?