Lucky here. I’m a three-year-old GoldenRetriever with my paw on the pulse of pup culture. I know what dogs want, and I understand what they’re better off without. That’s why I’ve put together plans for a fantasy dog park. A sort of carnival for canines, if you will. It doesn’t exist — yet — but I know people who know people, and someday my park will be a reality. Here’s what it includes:
Beach. I’m thinking a sandy stretch of coastline, littered with Frisbees that reek of Limburger cheese and gentle waves lapping at the shore. Did I mention it’s perpetually sunset?
Cat simulator. The details aren’t important, as long as it’s furry, fast, and knows how to move. Bonus features: Declawed and comes with its own “stocked” litter box.
Tennis ball thrower. Not some mechanical ball launcher, but an actual guy standing there with an arm that could out-pitch Cy Young. He’ll yell encouragement as I take off after the toss — and he’ll welcome my return with elaborate praise and the occasional bacon strip.
Plenty of fire hydrants. No one wants to waste precious park time jockeying for position under the oak tree off in the distance.
Dirt pile. Me, I’m not a digger , but a lot of my friends swear it’s more fun than running the mailman off the property. While we’re at it, add a stash of bury-ready bones, just in case someone forgets to bring her own.
Lounge area. Bean bags, reclining chairs, beds with pillows that never stop, and pristine white couches with no sign of a slip cover. Humans may or may not be allowed on. I haven’t decided yet.
Petting station. Placed not too far from the lounge area. Will come equipped with several full-time petters. Ladies with fingernails three-inches long and voices like butter, cooing “Goooood doggggggg…”
Sounds pretty dang perfect, I know. The only thing missing is a Howling Hut — a soundproof enclosure where one could bey at the moon to his heart’s content. But come on. That’s just crazy talk.