Frazz and the Slithering Tails

On Friday, I suggested that Frazz might want to go outside and play. We have a great yard—trees and rope swings and hills and little forests. I had visions of myself propped up in a lawn chair with a book, keeping a casual eye on Frazz while he played. All alone. In that big yard.

Woo-hoo.

Frazz looked up at me, one eye screwed shut, and said, “At the park?”

This is what parks mean to me: unfamiliar territory, splinters, other peoples’ children, germs, immanent falls from equipment of dubious upkeep, sprained and broken body parts, public restrooms. But as I looked down at him, I heard myself saying, “Sure!”

Not that going to the park with me was going to be that great a thrill for him: oh, yay – going to the park with my grandmother!!! Especially when that grandmother asks very politely if she can bring her book along. But go we did. I was thinking he’d really enjoy having some other kids around. Somebody to spark off of. To play with. Fun. Having it. And he would have, if there had been any other kids within a mile and a half.

We had the park all to ourselves. The nice, hot park with its nice, hot plastic slides. “Push me on the swing,” he said, not understanding that I am vigorously playing the hurt leg card. But I did it. For him, I did it. For about five seconds.

It was sad.

Then I sat down on the bench, guilty picked up my book, looked across the wide expanse of deserted grass—and saw a man coming, pulled along by two dogs on straining leashes. A young man. Just past boyhood, actually. A neighbor of ours I’ve known since he was an ocular twinkle – just married and now living with his folks. A person who used to own five rescue horses, but has cut down his menagerie to two Akita puppies.

But I get ahead of myself. I didn’t really recognize him until I’d yelled some questions at him (those dogs are silent, aren’t they?). The puppies were news to me – one six month big girl and one four month little boy.

Frazz was charmed till they jumped on him. And less charmed still when this new, interesting person turned out to be just another talking grown-up.

But then, after much talk, when it was pretty much time to go, we found out why Braeden was walking these dogs in the park: he had brought them to play. He explained how he and his wife had one day gotten it into their heads to show the dogs how to slide down the slides. How they’d had to stick a shoulder under each tail and heave the dogs up the ladders, and then push them down the slide. Once. Only once all that work. Because the dogs LOVED the slides, and now, you can hardly talk them into going home.