#3 Work is Play

So, my Denver blog countdown was cast aside, temporarily. Instead of writing about experiencing Denver, I was experiencing Denver. I still have the stories swirling in my head so I'll be adding them from Santa Fe!

#4 Thirteenth Floor

Four days left in Denver and I must write the story of my first visit to a haunted house.

#5 Denver Dispensaries

Since I have five days left in this glorious city, I decided to highlight five of the most remarkable Denver experiences that didn’t make the blog. Today, it’s medical marijuana. 

DOG BLOG

               When we told friends we were bringing our dogs to Denver, we got some threatening and fear-inducing comments. “Oh, you better keep the dogs on leash!" "They’ll get you for that in Denver." "Watch out!!! My friend doesn’t even keep her dog in the city limits anymore- she’s moved her out to the country!” I nodded and filed away the dramatic warnings, knowing full well that we’d only be staying there for 27 days. It was outrageously far-fetched to think our sweet and well-mannered dogs would be getting into any kind of trouble. However, I knew a strict leash law could seriously cramp our style. We would definitely be spending time in public parks because Bender was born to run and if we want any peace and quiet, the back yard just won't do.

The first few Denver outings with the dogs had me tossing them into the back of the SUV and making my way to legitimate, legal dog parks. Fully fenced dirt, with offensive garbage cans. You can talk to other dog people (secretly hoping you’re not THAT into your dogs) and see a wide range of poochy breeds, sizes and personalities. The trek out to the corner of the fence with a plastic bag mitten feels a little less demoralizing when you see that poop hunting is a way of life for many others, too. The off-leash parks do the trick of liberating Bender’s retrieving spirit and building social confidence in Isabel, but they leave me yearning for a relaxing walk to a quiet, grassy greenway. Without mud on my shoes at best, or stinky mud on my shoes at worst. To my delight, I discovered a small park five blocks away from our house, with a luscious, green soccer field that called to Bender. The call of the domesticated. After commiserating with fellow leash-law breakers at the park, I learned what the ticketing bad guys looked like and followed the lead of the locals in respectfully ignoring the sign that said Keep dogs on leash. I don’t like being a rule breaker--or don’t like getting caught--so as a result of teaching probability to 4^th graders, I knew my odds would go down if I threw in a law-abiding dog outing every few days. I also kept my eyes peeled for a white, windowless van with orange lights on top when we were at the soccer field. That’s how the dogs and I got by the first few weeks in Denver. 

Incriminating evidence of Bender, running the soccer field at Pferdsteller Park.

Bender and Isabel breaking the law after a snowfall.

The legal, off-leash park would have been scattered with yellow splotches.

Isabel accepted the risks that came with making the first illegal tracks in the snow.

Life was good, for a while. Then one day, our turn was up. Luck was on the opposing side. 

Patrick had taken an unusual break from work to join us on the, now familiar, walk to Pferdsteller Park. The wheels of the pedophile van crunched some residual ice on the street as the badged officer creeped along the curb. I started to panic and grasp for the dogs. Patrick remained calm. “Let’s claim out-of-town ignorance.” He walked over to the van while I continued to throw the ball, shaky and self-conscious. With Patrick’s charm and out-of-town ignorance, we got off with only one ticketed dog. We chose Bender to take the fall, because he’s already got a record for some misconduct at a doggy daycare in Portland. 

Bender's run-in with the law.

Patrick learned that Officer Martinez and his companion drove the only van that patrols all the parks in the entire city of Denver. And that we got off easy—the second offense would be worse.

Since getting the ticket a week ago, I’ve been keeping it legit. But, I don’t have any pictures of us at legal dog parks in town because, truthfully, they aren’t scenic.

Today, I was feeling lucky. After enough time passed, I calculated our odds once again--I’m so grateful for that 4^th grade math unit on probability--and told Patrick I was off to break the law. One van patrols the whole city. One illegal fetch session out of the last seven legal ones. No way the universe or karma or mathematical odds would send that van my way. Well, I’m starting to question the concepts I taught my 4^th graders, because today, it seems as if we defied not only laws of leash, but laws of probability.

This time I was alone with the dogs. It was the same two guys. Knowing I couldn’t claim out-of-town ignorance, I pretended not to see the van and grabbed both dogs’ collars in one hand and fast-walked in a slouch across the park. I was so focused on getting back to the leashes and getting out of there, I didn’t realize Isabel couldn’t breathe until she shook herself free with a labored hack. The gig was up. I made eye contact and shook my head as a deep voice projected, “From the looks of things, I can see you know what’s going on here...” He remembered the dogs and me from a week ago. I was so ashamed. And the shame only increased when he asked me if I was a resident of Denver. If we were residents (or had been there for 30 days or more)  our ticket could be increased for not having the dogs licensed in the city.

“No, we are just renting a house near here. We don’t live here.”

“Look, this isn’t a big deal. You know the law and you chose to take a risk. I’d just appreciate it if you’d be truthful with me. This is pretty basic.”

He spoke to me like I had a criminal record. Like I was someone that didn’t deserve his trust because I had boldly disobeyed. I was taken aback by his disgust with me. I soon realized I was one wrong move away from my face in the dirt, hands awkwardly cuffed behind my back and camera in my face. He radioed in my name and address to do a background check.

“I pinky swear! I’m a first grade teacher. I can’t lie! We are just visiting!” (I really did pinky swear to a cop.)

“You expect me to believe you don’t live here? That you’re just visiting? I just saw you here last week.”

“I’ve got a rental lease to prove it!” I squawked in desperation. I explained that my boyfriend and I were visiting different cities for chunks of time to explore the sunnier parts of the country. That he was working remotely and I had taken a leave of absence from work. That ridiculous story was the nail in the coffin. He cited me for two dogs off-leash, two dogs without a license in Denver, and two dogs without proof of rabies vaccinations!? A bill of over $500 big ones. I left the park with my head down.

The dogs are a huge part of my  existence these days. I'm a little embarrassed (and blessed) to admit it, but my weekly routine is defined by domestic organization, city exploration, volunteering in classrooms, writing in coffee shops, yoga and doggy care. Their wagging tails, nosy pushes into the bathroom and constant concern for where I'm planning to go make my heart happy. I was planning on writing a DOG BLOG today that described wonderful moments with me, Isabel and Bender. And highlighted the beauty of dog ownership. But today, I was ashamed of my behavior as a dog owner. Today, dog ownership was ugly.

Tomorrow, as I search for fresh poo with a plastic bag mitten, in the mud of a perfectly legal and frequently excremented pin, I will remember that it could be worse. I could be making a shameful, desperate and dirty appearance on a special episode of COPS: Dastardly Dog Owners.

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Epilogue: I plan to fight the fine for the dogs without a license by sending our lease to the nice court officials. We don't need to license them because we are, truthfully, here for less than 30 days. I will also be sending proof of rabies vaccinations to bring our charges down to around $150. Unfortunately, Officer Martinez will never know the truth.