Community Etiquette
On week-ends we fortunate few share. "Fortunate" for many reasons, not the least is that we have such wonderfully easy access to a neighbourhood resource that nature has afforded us in our nearby ravine, and fortunate in that at this stage in our lives, we're retired from 9-to-5 activity which hampers the lifestyles-freedoms of most younger people. Translated, that means we old codgers have free reign to explore this shared neighbourhood resource with our little pets without constantly tripping over other residents seeking to do likewise.
In short, we're awfully spoiled. We can indulge ourselves in whatever project fits our itinerary at any given time, and on short notice. Spur-of-the-moment activity-selections are our mode of life. We can succumb to any of the many activities which happen to take our attention and entice our engagement without the time restraints that hamper all those others gainfully employed. In short, spontaneity is the order of the day for us.
Which means, of course, that when we enter the precincts of the ravine on the week-ends it's with full expectations that on these days we've got to share the pleasures of ambling about in the woods at leisure. On Saturday morning we heard the excited, happy shouts of children long before we came across them on their sleds, bombing down the long hills. The thrill of movement along snow-covered hillsides is the memory of a Canadian childhood.
These boys, about 12 years old, were having one whale of a time. There were only two of them, but they had managed to perfectly groom the long ascent we were hauling ourselves up. But perfection wasn't acceptable to these two; they'd brought along with them not only sleds, but shovels, and were building ramps as well as smoothing out those portions of hillside that offended their sense of sled-aesthetic. They were so steamed up about their fun they had doffed their coats, leaving bare arms.
No, they said, they weren't cold, and a close look corroborated that; perspiration was running down the sides of their faces. We laughed along with them and remarked to them how much enjoyment we had just watching them tearing about, before heading up and onward ourselves. On our return of the circuit an hour later they had been joined by other children, both boys and girls, with an assortment of ages represented, all of them shrieking with the passion of their enjoyment.
These aren't the kids who go through the ravine at night. Those would be older boys; doubt any girls would be among them but who knows? In the summer these boys like to chop at the trees, the bridge supports, and sometimes they're successful at their determination to deconstruct nature. They've not yet been entirely successful in their pyromaniac absorption in setting the place ablaze, although remnants of their efforts are often to be seen here and there.
In the winter they're otherwise-absorbed. Even during the day at times you can sniff the fragrance of marihuana wafting on the air where they've vacated the premises at the oncoming sounds of trail walkers. Doesn't bother us. We are bothered by seeing trash left heaped here and there, everything from food wrappers to empty beer cans. And then there are other tell-tale signs of their activities, like the contents of their stomachs projectiled against the clean white snow. Or long, wide arcs of urine.
On Sunday too we know we'll come across others making full use of the trails. A lot of dog-walkers, sometimes young families; a father, mother, child or two, with or without dogs. Generally most people have the good sense to understand that it's incumbent upon them as good neighbours well socialized, to contain their dogs' activities, to ensure that they have control of their beloved beastie at all times. Either through the medium of a leash firmly attached to the animal's collar, or through patience-rewarding instruction that the dog obeys.
Then there are those who appear completely oblivious to their obligations, feeling their responsibility belongs only to their dog's well-being. And who would wish to deny a dog the wild pleasure of racing through the woods unhindered by instruction and sight-control, dishearted by having a leash held firmly in hand denying him his rightful wild-animal pleasures? Not for them to resort to the leash until others pass.
Which is what most people, I repeat, do. Both for the safety of their beloved pet and to ensure that said pet doesn't harrass other trail walkers and their companions be they human or animal. On this Sunday's perambulations we came across many such pet owners, who, upon seeing others approach, take the precaution of leashing their pet. Yes there are those who, walking a Labrador Retriever will say "oh, he's friendly", while frantically attempting to keep the animal from wallowing all over a stranger.
Which isn't so awful; at least she tried. It's those represented by the young woman out walking with her well-muscled boxer who bounded straight toward us as we approached, causing me to sweep tiny Riley up and my husband to do likewise with slightly-larger Button. I smiled grimly at the owner and plodded on as the dog swifted behind toward my husband. Leaping about successful in permitting the dog access to cowering Button.
So the dog instead ran behind back of my husband and then made a flying leap for the middle of his back, almost upending him. "I do apologize!" rang out the voice of the woman. And when my husband recommended leashing the dog, she defended it, saying it only leaped on him because he was holding our dog. And then the dog prepared for another running leap, upon which my husband circled the mild-end of his ski pole toward the dog. Which didn't sit especially well with the dog owner.
Sigh.
In short, we're awfully spoiled. We can indulge ourselves in whatever project fits our itinerary at any given time, and on short notice. Spur-of-the-moment activity-selections are our mode of life. We can succumb to any of the many activities which happen to take our attention and entice our engagement without the time restraints that hamper all those others gainfully employed. In short, spontaneity is the order of the day for us.
Which means, of course, that when we enter the precincts of the ravine on the week-ends it's with full expectations that on these days we've got to share the pleasures of ambling about in the woods at leisure. On Saturday morning we heard the excited, happy shouts of children long before we came across them on their sleds, bombing down the long hills. The thrill of movement along snow-covered hillsides is the memory of a Canadian childhood.
These boys, about 12 years old, were having one whale of a time. There were only two of them, but they had managed to perfectly groom the long ascent we were hauling ourselves up. But perfection wasn't acceptable to these two; they'd brought along with them not only sleds, but shovels, and were building ramps as well as smoothing out those portions of hillside that offended their sense of sled-aesthetic. They were so steamed up about their fun they had doffed their coats, leaving bare arms.
No, they said, they weren't cold, and a close look corroborated that; perspiration was running down the sides of their faces. We laughed along with them and remarked to them how much enjoyment we had just watching them tearing about, before heading up and onward ourselves. On our return of the circuit an hour later they had been joined by other children, both boys and girls, with an assortment of ages represented, all of them shrieking with the passion of their enjoyment.
These aren't the kids who go through the ravine at night. Those would be older boys; doubt any girls would be among them but who knows? In the summer these boys like to chop at the trees, the bridge supports, and sometimes they're successful at their determination to deconstruct nature. They've not yet been entirely successful in their pyromaniac absorption in setting the place ablaze, although remnants of their efforts are often to be seen here and there.
In the winter they're otherwise-absorbed. Even during the day at times you can sniff the fragrance of marihuana wafting on the air where they've vacated the premises at the oncoming sounds of trail walkers. Doesn't bother us. We are bothered by seeing trash left heaped here and there, everything from food wrappers to empty beer cans. And then there are other tell-tale signs of their activities, like the contents of their stomachs projectiled against the clean white snow. Or long, wide arcs of urine.
On Sunday too we know we'll come across others making full use of the trails. A lot of dog-walkers, sometimes young families; a father, mother, child or two, with or without dogs. Generally most people have the good sense to understand that it's incumbent upon them as good neighbours well socialized, to contain their dogs' activities, to ensure that they have control of their beloved beastie at all times. Either through the medium of a leash firmly attached to the animal's collar, or through patience-rewarding instruction that the dog obeys.
Then there are those who appear completely oblivious to their obligations, feeling their responsibility belongs only to their dog's well-being. And who would wish to deny a dog the wild pleasure of racing through the woods unhindered by instruction and sight-control, dishearted by having a leash held firmly in hand denying him his rightful wild-animal pleasures? Not for them to resort to the leash until others pass.
Which is what most people, I repeat, do. Both for the safety of their beloved pet and to ensure that said pet doesn't harrass other trail walkers and their companions be they human or animal. On this Sunday's perambulations we came across many such pet owners, who, upon seeing others approach, take the precaution of leashing their pet. Yes there are those who, walking a Labrador Retriever will say "oh, he's friendly", while frantically attempting to keep the animal from wallowing all over a stranger.
Which isn't so awful; at least she tried. It's those represented by the young woman out walking with her well-muscled boxer who bounded straight toward us as we approached, causing me to sweep tiny Riley up and my husband to do likewise with slightly-larger Button. I smiled grimly at the owner and plodded on as the dog swifted behind toward my husband. Leaping about successful in permitting the dog access to cowering Button.
So the dog instead ran behind back of my husband and then made a flying leap for the middle of his back, almost upending him. "I do apologize!" rang out the voice of the woman. And when my husband recommended leashing the dog, she defended it, saying it only leaped on him because he was holding our dog. And then the dog prepared for another running leap, upon which my husband circled the mild-end of his ski pole toward the dog. Which didn't sit especially well with the dog owner.
Sigh.
Labels: Perambulations
posted by Pieface @ 12:40 PM
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