"WHAT did you expect?"

If it’s not one, it’s the other. As Olive and I jauntily approached the entrance to the dog park last Saturday morning, I spot a Great Dane the size of a thoroughbred trotting around the perimeter of the fence. “NOT GOOD NEWS, OLIVE. THE BIG BLACK BUFFALO IS HERE TODAY.” This means that for Olive’s safety, we have to remain quarantined in the small dog area. Not Olive’s favorite. “Black Buffalo” is one of three Great Danes that visit the park somewhat regularly. One is fawn-colored and the other, a Harlequin Dane. Usually the trio arrive at the same time with their java-junkie owners who remain in a tightly curled clique by themselves. While the Danes appear very friendly, their size (150+ pounds) makes them potentially dangerous to other dogs. Twice now, Olive’s been trampled by two of them, spinning end over end with dirt and pebbles flying, yipping throughout the ugly collision which seems to occur in agonizing slow-motion. It makes me mental to watch. It’s like watching an 18-wheeler roll over a sedan. While I understand there was no aggression involved, my dog could have been hurt and it seemed that only luck prevented her from being injured. It’s hard not be angry at the Danes and yet you can’t blame them. Clearly, the wreck was unintentional. In fact, I kind of like the Danes; they have better manners than their owners who never stop to ask, “Is your dog alright?” Now, flash forward 24 hours. Olive and I are at the dog park on Sunday morning enjoying the bright winter’s day and the company of the other medium-sized dogs and their owners. After about 45 minutes, a woman shows up with a 7-month old ball of black fur that was so small, it looked like a fleece dog toy without stuffing. ‘HOLY CHRIST. ARE YOU KIDDING? SHE’S BRINGING THAT TINY SOCK IN HERE?” I mutter mostly to myself. “Tiny” comes bounding in and to her credit seems completely non-plussed by all the much larger dogs surrounding her, lining up for turns to sniff her naughty bits. However, my dog seems unusually fixated on this ball of fluff and while Olive does not have an aggressive temperament at all, she is by breed, a hunter of small animals and has a “strong, instinctive prey drive.” People desiring to own a weimaraner are cautioned in skyscraper-size type that weims may “tolerate” cats but many may “chase and kill small animals.” As I watch Olive routinely attempt to place her mouth around Tiny’s microscopic neck, I figure I better intervene before my dog starts shaking it by the neck as though it’s a toy. That would not be good. So I grab Olive by the collar, who is desperately trying to resist my attempt to leash her, and say, ”THAT’S IT OLIVE. WE’RE DONE FOR TODAY. THE LAST THING WE NEED IS FOR YOU TO COMMIT A HOMICIDE IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.”