As a confirmed urbanite I was slow to learn that within the Winnipeg Woodlot, dogs have special status. They are equal members of family and community. They can own property, drive cars, work in shops and dine at the local eateries. At a recent gathering of local activists there was a motion brought forth to grant these dogs the vote. It was met with great enthusiasm and action plans were quickly tabled. Some of these homo canines have such power and influence in the community that their dogs are permitted to leave their fecal matter where they see fit. This is understood as an ecological gesture of goodwill, I suppose, though it does take some time before the lumpy waste decomposes into the cement walkways and my footwear.
Warm weekends are particularly active for these canine centric woodlot dwellers. There are regular parades and, throughout the area, clusters of owners, dogs, and leads form at the cafes. In such circumstances it is acceptable (expected, I believe) to block entrances which provide a context to comment on breeds and behaviour. The homo canines loudly speak to their dogs in performatives where the goal is to demonstrate to all how their dog has superior command of English and possesses human intent and desire. This is, indeed, impressive. Here in the woodlot these human canine interactions can hold the same status as exotic or posh breeds. Please look. You must watch. We insist.
On a recent sunny Saturday morning on my way back home with coffee in hand, I walked into a parade that blocked the entire width of the sidewalk. An owner had two dogs on leads on each side of her. Woodlot ethics dictate that I, not of the species homo canine, must give way. As I so did, both dogs curled their upper lips back, exposed their fangs and assumed attack postures. They lunged. Just on the verge of tearing at the flesh on my calves, she pulled the dogs back laughing and warmly chastising her dogs (recall, they understand our language) all the time her eyes smiling back at me. Now I suppose I was expected to smile back and say something like, "Well aren`t they spirited little fellows! " thereby ensuring Winnipeg Woodlot social cohesion. I did not. "Your dogs are very aggressive. They intended to do me harm. “ She laughed and said: "Well, they saw your coffee and they have not had their morning cup. " She then walked on.
How foolish of me. Truly, I did not understand their intent. I am grateful that she was there to interpret for me. Homo canines are adept translators. Hell, I know what it is like to have to interact before the morning cup of jo. How blind could I have been? I now understand my place here within the woods. If not for the guidance of this women and others of her kind I would truly be a pariah.
Bite me, lady.
(Check out Tales from The Woodlot Part 2)
Herr Doktor
Warm weekends are particularly active for these canine centric woodlot dwellers. There are regular parades and, throughout the area, clusters of owners, dogs, and leads form at the cafes. In such circumstances it is acceptable (expected, I believe) to block entrances which provide a context to comment on breeds and behaviour. The homo canines loudly speak to their dogs in performatives where the goal is to demonstrate to all how their dog has superior command of English and possesses human intent and desire. This is, indeed, impressive. Here in the woodlot these human canine interactions can hold the same status as exotic or posh breeds. Please look. You must watch. We insist.
On a recent sunny Saturday morning on my way back home with coffee in hand, I walked into a parade that blocked the entire width of the sidewalk. An owner had two dogs on leads on each side of her. Woodlot ethics dictate that I, not of the species homo canine, must give way. As I so did, both dogs curled their upper lips back, exposed their fangs and assumed attack postures. They lunged. Just on the verge of tearing at the flesh on my calves, she pulled the dogs back laughing and warmly chastising her dogs (recall, they understand our language) all the time her eyes smiling back at me. Now I suppose I was expected to smile back and say something like, "Well aren`t they spirited little fellows! " thereby ensuring Winnipeg Woodlot social cohesion. I did not. "Your dogs are very aggressive. They intended to do me harm. “ She laughed and said: "Well, they saw your coffee and they have not had their morning cup. " She then walked on.
How foolish of me. Truly, I did not understand their intent. I am grateful that she was there to interpret for me. Homo canines are adept translators. Hell, I know what it is like to have to interact before the morning cup of jo. How blind could I have been? I now understand my place here within the woods. If not for the guidance of this women and others of her kind I would truly be a pariah.
Bite me, lady.
(Check out Tales from The Woodlot Part 2)
Herr Doktor