In fact, I think I might wave hello

On off-leash dogs and shouting at strangers and trying to make things better, not worse

Yesterday I met a stranger in my neighborhood.

In our first interaction, we stood twenty feet apart. He yelled at Sean for intercepting his dog and I yelled back and we both used the word “asshole.”

In our second interaction, we sat next to each other on a bench. I learned his name is Harley. He owns an ocean kayaking business, and he likes my seahorse tattoo, and his hand was warm shaking mine. We both used the phrase “have a good evening.” (I’m pretty sure we both meant it.)

On the walk back from our initial encounter—Sean, Scout, and I had been leaving the local park as this man and his off-leash dog arrived—I felt adrenalized and nauseated and heavy. Being rushed by off-leash dogs isn’t hard to handle nowadays, what with Scout’s fear reactivity progress over the years, but it still isn’t fun. Engaging in a yelling match (even a short one that I can honestly claim someone else started) never makes me feel proud. And this happened close to our apartment, less than midway through our lease, meaning we were almost guaranteed to see this dog and owner again. Quite simply: Ugh.

I told Sean to take Scout inside and help her finish shaking off the stress when we got home. I said I needed to shake it off, too, and I went around the block by myself—but the only thing I appeared to be successfully shaking were my fingers. (Earthquake hands are the top way my nervous body betrays me.) I’m not entirely sure why I decided to walk by the park again—if I’m honest I think part of me might have been hoping to reignite the conflict, dig my heels in, prove I was “in the right”—but there he was when I passed on the opposite side of the street. The man who had screamed at me. At whom I had raised my own voice. Sitting on a bench.

I thought maybe I should tell him he’s a jerk again. Then I caught myself and wondered what can I do so the next time I see this stranger my heart doesn’t leap into my throat like this? And I asked if I could sit down next to him.

“Are you open to a calm conversation with me?” I said. He was confused—he didn’t recognize me without Scout. “I’m the woman with the dog you just yelled at,” I added.

I watched his face change. But he said yes.

So, wondering if I was being very stupid, I tried to explain where I was coming from. I told him about Scout getting attacked shortly after I adopted her and all the training work we’ve put in since and the fact that she’s now an AKC Canine Good Citizen. I told him how every time someone lets their off-leash dog run at a leashed one without permission, it can set hard-won progress back. I told him we live nearby (when he told me to “go back to wherever the hell you came from,” it was an apartment around the corner) and that I realized we must be neighbors and it felt gross to leave it like that, us storming away after shouting. I don’t like yelling at strangers.

“I don’t like it either,” he said.

We talked for a little while. Maybe ten minutes? The sun was setting and his dog sniffed at our feet and I felt safe, if still shaky. It’s not often I have the opportunity to put Scout away and return so quickly to an environment after a bad encounter. It’s not often I get the chance to seek reconciliation. It’s not often, despite valuing openness and kindness and empathy, that I even try all that hard to look for a way in.

“You know what, it’s on me,” he said before I left. “Your points are well taken.”

Neither of us raised our voices in our second conversation—our first actual conversation, because the words we exchanged before were a poor substitute for proper dialogue—and though my pulse was still high when I leaned into Sean’s arms back at the apartment, I said I didn’t feel afraid to run into this guy and his dog again.

I am not dreading it.

In fact, I think I might wave hello.

paws.andreflect

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If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read 💛 You know it’s not often I send emails directly for a single post—and I’ve been taking a break from consistent Substack publishing to focus on my book manuscript—but the fact that this is the story I get to tell about last night, instead of some sad tale only about overwhelming divisive anger, means a lot to me.

I hope you’re able to play with your dog today! Love from me and Scout.