Since last August, I’ve been walking Dakota through different parts of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park pretty much as I did in the North Chagrin Reservation. I keep a leash with me, but let her walk without until someone approaches and, from body language, I can see they are uncomfortable. I know dogs are supposed to be leashed, but I also know she is completely passive, disinterested in other people and dogs (particularly if I’m holding a stick), and minds me. So I break the law.
I had just passed through the park and was walking along Oak Hill Road past Hale Farm and Village. The road has only six houses on it and with almost no traffic, I let Dakota walk off-leash. She tends to walk several paces behind me and moves over to the grass when I tell her as a car approaches. On this particular evening, a Gator was approaching, which should not be on the road (though I do it myself at the farm). I had seen the Gator several times on the Hale Farm property and took the driver to be a caretaker/employee of some kind. He pulled alongside me as Dakota, walking on the berm, moved over to say ‘hello’.
Somewhat aggressively he said, “I need you to leash your dog. We’ve lost some chickens and lambs.”
At first I was stunned to silence – a very unnatural state for me, but my brain had gotten ahead of my mouth and was trying to decide if he was kidding. “Are you kidding? I'm walking in the road and she doesn't have to be on one,” I finally said.
“No. I need you to leash it,” he repeated, with a bullying authority.
“My dog walks at my side. I’m pretty sure I’d notice if she was eating a chicken or a lamb,” I said.
“That’s what everyone says. Leash it,” he demanded, implying my blood-thirsty killing machine ate half a dozen chickens on a hike while I stood by cheering her efforts.
Unlike Dakota, I am not passive and I hate bullies. “If you were a better farmer, your chickens and lambs wouldn’t be out here on the road where my dog could eat them even if she wanted to,” I said.
He glared at me and asked, “So, you’re not going to leash her?”
“No, I’m not. I’m walking in the road nowhere near your farm or chickens or lambs – if you actually have any since we’re busy doubting each other. And let’s face it – you don’t think for a second my dog was killing anything. You may have lost livestock to the many coyotes and fox that prowl these woods and your property and you’re lousy at protecting them so you thought you’d take your frustrations out on a peaceful dog owner. Well guess what…you picked the wrong guy!”
He reached for his pocket as though he was going to pull out a pad and write something down, giving me his ‘tough guy’ stare. I returned it and said, "and you're driving on the road illegally with that thing."
Realizing he was wrong and being an asshole (doubtfully – one of the characteristics of being an asshole is not knowing you’re an asshole), he drove onto his farm.
But he did truly mess with my serenity for the remainder of the hike. I let him get to me because I’ve always hated bullies, but gained nothing in the exchange. I wish I could just walk away from such confrontations, but something in my DNA always flares and puts me nose to nose with an antagonist. Ah well…something else to work on during my trip to perfection. Quite a long journey…
Hike: 75 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 70 - 90 bpm.
Calories Burned: 500
Bonus: 23,000 steps.
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