On Dog Parks & Online Social Spaces
Fieldnotes for Designers • 2 minute read
Note: This is a piece in three movements: The Dog Park on Christmas Day; From The Dog Park to the Classroom; and, 3 PX Questions for LMS Designers. Let’s dive in!
The Dog Park on Christmas Day
It is a rare thing in Tucson, Arizona, when you can sit alone in the sun and sense your skin drinking in the wetness of the air. It's Christmas day at the dog park, and my dog scampers from tree to tree, sniffing his fill, and peeing on everything.
I do live through him of course — this dog I didn’t really want in the first place — he keeps me going. His name is Bee.
And having been holed up for months after eye surgery, it is especially good to be here today at the dog park. Though my eyes are closed, at least for the moment, I am finally out in the world.
I press pause on my audio-recorder, and I sit with the stillness.
The wind through the mesquite is louder than the road behind me.
And this is also what I needed: nature filling my ears — louder than the road, louder than all the industrial noises that surely surround us.
Dare I say, it’s a perfect day.
As I open my eyes, I find that Bee is now over by the entrance to the dog park. He gazes longingly at a smaller dog beyond the fence. He runs back and forth, as if to say, “I’m here, I’m here.”
Bee is a love.
He is here to play, to run, to sniff the universe of possibility. He is the perennial optimist — always believing that another dog will arrive. But as for me, on this particular day, I’m the opposite.
I came here hoping for the gift of a ghost-town on Christmas Day. I came to this public dog park to simply sit and be a ghost. Just me and my dog.
And I know, this is a public space. It’s made to be shared. On a good day, I would celebrate how this dog park, like most public spaces, just comes to life when the public arrives, but, not today.
I just need the quiet, the wind through the trees, some good deep breaths — and yes, an occasional glance at my dog, before closing my eyes and being still.
I open my eyes again — the slightest bit — and somehow, Bee notices.
He runs across the park and he leans into me. Or, we lean into each other, you might say.
I pet him, and he decides to stay a little longer.
I soothe him, I tell myself, or perhaps he’s soothing me?
It is good, either way.
And I know it won’t last. He’s got other needs.
And right as I think this, off he goes to re-smell every inch of the park.
And I guess I have other needs too.
I press record and I speak to the stillness.
