The pile on of pets where they're prohibited

I can’t stop caring about this. I don’t want to stop caring about this.

“But I was so polite,” I whine to Sean. “How could they be so rude when I was so polite?”

He just shakes his head.

A scruffy pomeranian had just run up to us as we waded ankle deep on Sandspur Beach. Several feet from his owners, the dog wasn’t wearing a leash or a collar. I could have easily reached down and picked him up. I could have easily tripped over his small form. Instead, I looked at his people—a man and a woman—and called “I don’t think dogs are allowed on the beach here?”

She ignored me completely. He didn’t make eye contact. All I got in response was a faux-cheerful “yeah” before they kept walking, pomeranian still weaving mong the seagrass.

“What a mature reaction,” I muttered. I wanted to follow the couple and clarify: “So you’re breaking the rules on purpose?” but knew it would be no use. I’d probably get ignored again, or yelled at, or called a bitch. (Been there, done all three.)

I struggled to shake my frustration as we dove into the water. The ocean was warm and salty and perfect—the sun still strong but no longer scorching—and I should have been at my most relaxed. (Usually I am in the sea.) Instead, I played a mental loop of dog owners thinking they’re above the rules.

And I grew angrier.

In the last two weeks, we have encountered more people violating pet restrictions—like “dogs must be leashed” and “no pets allowed on X trail or beach”—than in the past few months combined. (Trust me that this is a stark comparison, because in the normal course of our travels we run into a lot of entitled (or possibly ignorant or confused) handlers.) There’s something in the water here in south Florida, and it’s a particular shame given that many recreation guidelines exist specifically to protect sensitive plants, wildlife, and soil.

An added part of my frustration is the fact that Sean and I religiously follow pet rules with Scout—even though she’s well trained enough most establishments wouldn’t think twice about allowing her. (The number of times I’ve been asked if she’s a service dog, especially when she dons her “do not pet” leash wrap, astounds me.) I’m well versed in the Americans with Disabilities Act requirements for SDs. I could “fake” our heeler as one.

But I never would.

It wouldn’t be a victimless violation. It wouldn’t be aligned with my values. It wouldn’t be kind.

And it drives me bonkers when other people so callously do just that—especially when their pets have nowhere near the level of composure required to pull off the ruse. Real service dogs act as important medical equipment for their handlers. They do not interfere with the environments they visit. When people bring pets without public access training into restricted areas, they incite ripples of future harm from disturbing fragile habitats to increasing access problems for actual service dog teams to making other people think it’s okay to do the same thing.

And then I find myself on a narrow wildlife trail in Everglades National Park counting the number of unruly dogs sniffing off the path. I watch people boldly walk their pets right in front of clear signs saying “no dogs allowed”. A doodle jumps on me in the visitor center, and even though I adore dogs, I can barely contain my disappointed sigh that this interaction—an out-of-control (albeit adorable) creature giving dogs and handlers everywhere a bad name—has become the norm.

Yes, I can hear my preachiness as I write these words. I want to scream that I am fun at parties, I promise. I want to grab you by the shoulders and look into your eyes and make you understand how much I enjoy sharing activities with Scout, how deeply I believe in biological fulfillment, how annoying I also find pet guidelines sometimes—how intently I yearn to break them in my weak moments.

But there is a better way to spend time with our dogs—and even push for meaningful change in pet access restrictions—than this all-too-common total disregard.

As scientist Johan Eklöf writes on page 121 of The Darkness Manifesto: “A long process of natural selection of behaviors and characteristics is required for predators and prey to reach a balance, which humans and their pets easily overturn.”

I can’t stop caring about this. I don’t want to stop caring about this. So I inhale deeply, and I dip my head beneath the saltwater’s surface, and I remember what I can control: My own actions. My commitment to education and resource accessibility. My love for nuance. Small, incremental steps toward larger change.

Thank you to every last dog lover who considers your impact in shared public spaces—especially the wild ones. You make our world better.

paws.andreflect

A post shared by @paws.andreflect