Dog park community

By Amy Frykholm

“I know one thing,” my priest said in a recent sermon. “Community heals.” My thoughts went immediately to dog parks. No, my small town doesn’t have a dog park. But when my family travels to larger towns, my son loves to visit their dog parks. He watches the dogs; I watch the humans. Both are fascinating.

The dog park is a peculiar new form of human (and canine) community. A friend of mine from the park has an office job. Every morning, he drives to a subway station and takes the subway to work. Once there, he works in a cubicle. He reverses the process in the evening. A few minutes after returning from work, he gets back in his car and takes his dog to the dog park.

My friend is not a religious person. His interests are not broad, but he is not pathologically lonely by any means. He is a normal person who lives in a culture that does almost nothing to foster community. The dog park is the one place where he is connected. He knows the names of all the dogs and almost all of the humans. He strikes up conversations; he learns the details of people’s lives.

Over the three years that he has been visiting the dog park, my friend has become close with a lesbian couple and their Scotch Terrier. They arrange meetings at the dog park and invite each other over for dinner. The dogs like each other, and gradually, the humans have gained each other’s trust. They ask each other for help when they need it; they invite each other to significant events. They’ve built a small, fragile community.

There is no question in my mind that the dog park has been a healthy life-giving place for my friend. Because of it, he has spent innumerable hours outside. He has connected with people and dogs; he’s become a bit softer and more gentle. In his famous book Bowling Alone, Robert Putnam has discussed the disintegration of civic life and community. It would be easy to deride the dog park as a rather pitiful example of what community has become; it is, after all, fragile and transitory. But the dog park reminds me of Martin Buber’s comment that community, properly understood, is the “moment’s answer to the moment’s question.” The dog park is not a holdout, not a carryover from another era, but a new place where community may come quietly alive.

Comments

[John C. Bonser]

Our pastor is beginning her second year within our congregation. Early in her time with us we added "All Are Welcome!" to our newspaper ad. Many of us just took it for granted that everyone knew that. We now reach out and accept all people. Since we are in a community that is filled with "snowbirds" we have many visitors during the season. She has opened our hearts and lives to our new friends and we are eagerly looking forward to their return to our community of faith!

Each Sunday we celebrate Holy Communion. It delights me to read: "Gloria Dei Lutheran Church celebrates open communion. We understand the sharing of the bread and cup in Jesus' name to be a representation of an ancient vision of God's feast for all peoples. We don't require you to be a member of this church to participate with us in this feast of grace - it is God's Table."

We all need to feel that we belong. "Taxi","Cheers", and "Friends" were so popular because they provided a glimpse into a community "where everybody knows your name."

An additional thought - isn't it marvelous to listen to sermons that set off several strings of firecrackers while you are listening!