The path around the reservoir is mostly flat with good footing. Walkers and runners enter through a service road the water department maintains. A berm separates the water from the road for the first several hundred yards. It’s lined with aged pine trees that look like they were planted when the pond was dammed. There are only a few holes denoting fallen trees. 

A few paths lead to the water. These are favored spots for the dogs who run down to drink or swim on hot days. Unfortunately, since it is so near the parking area, it’s also a magnet for the offenders leaving poopy diapers. 

After passing the beach on the right hand side, the chicken wire fence on the other side of the road disappears. More than one unwary dog has gotten caught behind this fence while in pursuit of small game. They always figure out a way around the blockade and come back no worse for the wear. An old civil defense structure with a horn lurks behind a chain link fence a little further on. Dogs have been known to run around this enclosure and roll in nasty things behind it. Not Doll though. 

The reservoir is long and narrow, no longer used as a water supply. The north side is short, basically an earthen dam. A brick pump house sits in the water about 20 feet from shore. During the warm summer ropes hang from the opening, placed there by illicit swimmers. Henry lurks, waiting to catch the scofflaws. 

The dam is a canine hot spot. Swimmers rush to the water, antsy individuals race up and down the hill on the back side. Here the grass grows high, reaching over a foot tall; some dogs graze their way through in the never-ending search for the roughage not found in the obscenely expensive food we all buy. 

The most magical dog spot appears where the maintained roadway turns into a footpath, entering the woods up a slight incline. Dogs go nuts just before making the right turn. They run in circles, they run back and forth, leap around like psycho-dogs and generally let their hair down. 

“Look at Dolly!” “Star!” “Watch out Lulu!”

Lulu, Karen’s dog, is frequently knocked over by the larger dogs. She is small and round, yet fierce. Fortunately she rolls well. “Good thing Lulu’s not a pit bull,” Peter said one day as she fended Dolly off with a determined grrr.

Karen falls frequently on the walks too. She carries a cane but a misplaced foot or a good nudge from a careening dog is enough to drop her.

“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.”

Dolly and Bubba love to play tug-of-war. Yes, that play is frowned on by vigilante trainers, but hey, they like it and it tires them out. Both animals have lost 10 pounds each of unwanted flab over the last year, this play is important.

A deceased tug tire rests inside a not yet used tug tire.

 Be creative in your choice of toys, there is no need to enrich your local pet store. An old Kevlar bead bicycle tire is one of the dynamic duo’s favorite toys. A great use for something we haven’t figured out how to recycle yet. So be ecologically correct; reduce, recycle and REUSE!

Some people are much  more organized with tire re-using. http://www.greatgreengoods.com/2008/02/26/recycled-bicycle-tire-rug/comment-page-1/#comment-333676

Thus, the cause for caution. A new dog, or more accurately, dog/person unit, may or may not integrate into the group. The butt sniffing and chest butt protocol entails growling, barking and snapping; behavior that can be alarming for anyone not expecting it. Fortunately it doesn’t usually mean trouble.

 Common knowledge at Flat Rock holds that a new pit bull can be an exception to the general dog way of fitting in. Some are just “dog aggressive” and must be avoided at all costs. You never know. Better safe than sorry.

“Here come some new dogs,” Wendy said. “Better leash Dolly. It’s a pit”

 Two goldens and a heavy black dog came bounding around the corner followed by two men. “No, no. It’s okay,” one of them called out. “He’s very friendly. Let them go”

 We were cautious. Dolly was still on the leash, Wendy, Peter and their dogs surrounded us.

 “Bubba, come here,” the man with the thick eyebrows called.

 “Wait a minute. I know them,” I said. “Ken? Ken Jones?”

 “I think they are okay,” I said to the others. “I’ve heard about Bubba. He’s a marshmallow.”

 Paul, that friend who said me and a pit bull bitch would be a perfect match, told me about this dog. He was very impressed with the black pit bull cross. The Bubbs spent lots of time sitting on the couch and snarfing cookies from guests. I’d known Bubba’s mother for years. We taught a class together at the local college and I teach in an after school program she runs.

 I decided to let Dolly go when everyone arrived and the dogs were starting to calm down. After all, Bubba came from a good family. It turned out to be a most excellent decision.

Immediately Dolly recognized Bubba as one of her own kind. She growled and snapped and jumped all over him. Bubba growled and snapped and sat right down. He already knew to take advantage of his superior size in the never ending games of strength the two dogs would come to play. Dolly, younger by a year and a half and much more svelte, overcame his weight advantage with energy and enthusiasm.

“Oh, boy,” I warned. “Stand back.”

Dolly raced to the edge of the woods and grabbed a stick. It was as if none of the other dogs or people existed. She ran straight to Bubba and stopped. Front feet extended and tail up in the air. The budding coquette looked up under her eyelashes at her new conquest and said, “Errr.”

Well, that was it for Bubba. He was completely enchanted by the pit bull temptress. He grabbed the other end of that stick and the rest, as they say, was history. For the next 20 minutes they tugged and growled, periodically racing keeping to catch up with the others. The other dogs ignored them; the owners seemed enthralled by the single-mindedness of the two pits. By the end of the walk the stick was history and Dolly and Bubba firm friends.

 “We’ll have to do this again,” Ken said. “But how do you know me?”

 Turns out the humans still needed to do some sniffing and butting.

For a more serious look at dog socialization vist: http://site.bigpawdesigns.com/blog/?p=508

Over the next few months we met up with the walkers several times a week. The blurry group gradually became a collection of individuals, each with an interesting take on life, each just a tad odd. Some came up more often than others.

Wendy was known as the dog-yeller. She kept tabs on everyone and everyone’s dogs. She was also the resident expert on all things Fitchburg and all things dog. Sometimes though, it was difficult to figure out what she was talking about.

“I’ve been coming up to these woods since I was little. I know every trail. My brother told me not to walk around alone up here. He’s a state cop. That’s ridiculous. I know these woods better than anyone.

“My father used to raise Brittanies. We always had Brittanies. The girl at the vet’s just got a pit. You don’t know if they are any good until they are two. They can turn any time, but if they reach two and they’re still good they’ll be okay.

“There’s a lawyer who lives over there, he has a mean dog and he wants us all to put our dogs on a leash. He just can’t control his dog, you know. Henry said we don’t have to leash our dogs.

“Oh, look at Dolly. DOLLY, DOLLY! What a good girl; go play with Star. STAR! Star doesn’t like to play. He only plays with his ball. Ruby thinks she’s a poodle too.”

“Who’s Ruby?” I finally got a word in edgewise. I didn’t remember seeing any dog named Ruby but that doesn’t always mean much.

“Oh, she’s a pit who only plays with poodles. She lives with Star’s sister. She’s always cold.”

“Yeah, Dolly hates the cold too. She shivers a lot,” I confided. “Her feet used to bleed in the snow until she toughened up.”

“Well, you have to let her sleep all the way under the covers with you,” Wendy advised.

“No way.” I was adamant. “She snores. No dogs in the bed.”

“Ruby sleeps under the covers.” It seemed like Wendy was becoming Dolly’s strongest advocate.

“Well, goody for Ruby. The Doll will just have to adapt. I’ll get her a fleece blanket.”

“They had some good ones at the Salvation Army,” Wendy recommended.

It would be some time before I got the complete cast of characters straightened out. As the weeks went by, it became increasingly obvious there was a group of us and a group of them.

Doll and I were one of ‘us.’

Here’s a brief video of Dolly’s friend Bubba teaching Ken how to dispense treats and play tug and provide a comfy place to lay his weary head.

Doll- The Social Butterfly

As advertised there were dogs running free and their people were good with it. The pack welcomed Dolly on their own dog terms; butt-sniffing, running in circles, gratuitous barking and other expressions of general canine joy. Dolly sniffed, ran and barked with the best of them. She was a young and exuberant dog but the other dogs accepted this. After all, they were young once also. If she got too rambunctious somedog was sure to give her an “errr” and straighten her right out.

I was overwhelmed by the statements and advice being batted around.

 “Watch out, there is a woman who comes up here who is afraid of pits,” someone to my right said.

I turned to my left. “Well, Fiona is the alpha female, she’ll put Dolly in her place.” “NO! STAR BENNETT!” I stumbled in a startle reflex. Guess that was one of the dogs getting yelled at.

“Look, Dolly has a crush on Bruno. He’s awfully handsome but there’s nothing between his ears.”

The owners and dogs were a motley crew. A young family with a double stroller and three children gathered in the shade at the edge of the thick woods surrounding the reservoir.  Several women walked with leashes draped around their necks for easy access. One of them used a cane. A tall, thin man in a raggedy sweat suit kept watch over everybody. The dogs were just as diverse. A white standard poodle with an unfortunate haircut, several small dogs who stood their ground and didn’t say much. An older german shepherd mix was a slow-moving object. Large bounding dogs and some mid-sized models rounded out the canine mix.

The group gathered us in and took us for a walk around the pond. Sounds innocent, doesn’t it? Here was this pit bull, a dog with a “bad rap,” playing just like any other dog. The people broke into groups of two or three as the trail narrowed. The dogs cavorted and gamboled through the undergrowth, ran ahead on the path and came barreling back for treats. I kept a close eye on my dog, what if some other dog really annoyed her and something happened? What if she knocked over the woman with the cane?

As the group circled back to the parking area, the others took stock of us. We were the new kids on the block. The owners looked at each other, the dogs sniffed and butted. Nothing was said, but apparently we received the stamp of approval.

“We usually come up here around 10,” the man in the sweat suit said. “Every day.”

“Kody likes Dolly,” he continued. “She plays with him.”

“Um, who’s Kody?” I asked, still confused by the crowd. “Oh, him,” he replied pointing at the ambling shepherd mix.

“Oh, okay. We can come up sometimes then, but sometimes I have to work,” I said. “I know Dolly had a good time.”

I glanced at my watch. “Oh, my god. I’m going to be late for work! Dolly, get in the car, come on Dolly!”

After her meeting with Bubba and the joy the two animals showed playing tug with each other, I ignored the rule. We have a fine time playing tug although I cheat. She stays on the slippery wooden floor while I have much better traction in my shoes.

Then, I came across instructions on how to play tug with your dog. Seems like if you interact with your pet it should come naturally, but you can check out the directions here: http://www.naturaldogblog.com/blog/2007/07/how-to-play-tug-of-war-with-your-dog-and-have-the-happiest-dog-on-the-block/

Have fun.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxxNuuFAdMw