It looks like I missed the memo about dogs at parties. Apparently, dogs are welcome to participate in grownups’ backyard parties even if they are not mentioned in the invitations, because . . . Well, because you’re going to a party, so you’re gonna meet a bunch of dogs. Period! And you no-dog people? Tough luck. Just get on with it because dogs are people too.
The reason for this missive is a birthday party I attended recently. Now, the birthday girl has a fluffy, white dog that I have seen several times over the years. I even went for a walk with her and the dog once or twice when she was recovering from knee surgery. So I knew there might be a dog at the party. My friend adores her dog. She posts closeups of him next to her face on Facebook praising his good nature and company. The dog was young when I first met him, but now, he is old. I don’t know how old he is, but she mentioned that he was deaf and a little bit blind, so he’s definitely old.
I helped my friend bring some foodstuff outside. The party was going to take place in her fenced-in yard around a large metal table situated under a beach umbrella. Her dog, I’ll call him Bronco, was nowhere to be seen. He moves slowly, she said, and went inside to check on something she left on the stove.
Shortly afterward, a woman I didn’t know arrived. At first, I didn’t notice that she had a dog with her, maybe because it was small, or maybe because I was in the kitchen helping my friend. When I came back outside, I saw a little brown dachshund-looking dog running circles around the table, wagging its tail excitedly. This was when I noticed that Bronco, my friend’s aging dog, was sitting under that same table chewing something. I have to admit that the dachshund type who was trying to befriend Bronco and perhaps get him to join in the fun of running around, was super cute. Maybe that was why I didn’t give a second thought to the fact that there was another dog at the party who appeared to feel completely at home, even though this back yard was definitely not his turf.
I didn’t say anything to the woman except a friendly hi, and I certainly did not ask about her dog. I am not one to gush over cute little dogs. I don’t ask to pet them. I don’t ask their names. In short, I don’t make conversation about dogs. Just like I don’t make conversation about babies whose parents I don’t know.
The dog person seemed like a nice woman. I found out she had just graduated from nursing school and was a new acquaintance of my friend’s. Her dog looked to me like a high maintenance type and for a split second a thought flashed through my head: When did she have time to care for him? Nursing school is so time consuming and demanding. But I let it go.
I had barely finished wondering about the nurse and her dog when another woman entered the yard with two little dogs on one leash. Unlike the cute dachshund type, her dogs looked a bit out of place—nervous, hyper, and suspicious of their surroundings. My friend, the busy birthday girl, who was standing by the outdoor grill with a bucket of marinated shrimp, greeted the woman, hugged her, and showed her to the cooler. “I didn’t buy a lot of alcohol this time,” she apologized. “I can’t afford it anymore. But there’s beer and white wine if you want.”
The woman, whose name I didn’t catch, probably because she was not formally introduced to me, never made it to the cooler. One of her little unidentified breeds was triggered by something and started barking hysterically. The woman tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t stop.
This is annoying, I thought without a shred of sympathy for the woman, who planted herself and the dogs on an upholstered bench, away from the table where most of the action and the food were located.
I took a seat under the beach umbrella and focused on the soft drink my friend had handed me before the commotion began. Two women I didn’t know joined me at the table. They came to the party with more traditional offerings. One of them placed a festive gift bag at the center of the table, the other was holding a bouquet of fresh cut flowers. It was comforting to see that they didn’t bring more dogs, but I felt a tinge of discomfort because I did not bring a gift or flowers. But at least I didn’t bring a dog. Only food to share.
My friend, who was now in full host mode, brought out a vase for the flowers and returned to the grill to check on the shrimp. At that moment another woman entered the yard, with a tall brown purebred poodle. That woman was somebody I actually knew, but I didn’t know she had a poodle.
Very quickly the poodle became the center of attention. Bronco barely got a nod from the participants. The little dachshund type disappeared, maybe onto the lap of someone sitting across from me. The badly behaved barking bundle of nerves was having a time out on the bench away from us with his woman person. But the poodle, he was the star.
Everybody wanted to know something about him or touch him. Except for me, of course. I felt worse than pathetic. Here I was braving the world, meeting some people I don’t know, ready to socialize, and the bulk of the conversation featured oohs and aahs, giggles, and clicking sounds instead of words and sentences. In previous parties in my friend’s back yard I used to meet some mutual friends and have the opportunity to catch up, talk about stuff we were interested in, share some thoughts and harmless gossip. But this birthday party was a dog-sharing convention, not a people’s party. The women did not intend to be burdened by having to carry a conversation. The dogs gave them enough material to talk about.
People who find out that I am single tell me I need to get a dog. A dog, they say, can fill up my days (as if I have nothing else to do). Get a dog, it will make you so happy, they say, assuming I’m unhappy. They take it for granted that I need a dog because I live by myself. Instead of telling them I don’t need their advice, I say, “Maybe, someday,” even though I don’t mean it at all. But these women, they succumbed to the pressure and couldn’t attend a birthday party without dragging along their emotional crutches. I was almost sad watching it and not knowing how to relate.
Luckily, I had to leave early so I never found out if any more dogs came to the party. But I wanted to know if that was the new normal. I called my daughter and asked her if bringing dogs to backyard parties was something people actually do.
“Yup,” she said, and proceeded to tell me that she has a friend who regularly takes her dog to parties. The dog is so old, she said, her friend is worried he is going to die soon and wants to spend every minute with him, so she takes him everywhere. Everywhere? I am sure she doesn’t take him to the hospital lab where she works.
I didn’t want to question my daughter and make her think I am a mean angry woman who doesn’t get on with the times, so I said nothing. But I did go online to check what people say about bringing dogs to parties.
And I found out that yes, it is completely acceptable to impose your dog on everyone. Just don’t forget the doggy treats, the doggy bed, the water bowl, a towel, and some doggy toys to keep them busy and well-behaved.
I guess next time I find myself invited to a backyard party I will have to ask about the dogs. Or not.
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