In British Columbia, we are just getting through a heatwave with temperatures up to 40C (104F) in Vancouver. Naturally, we all want to get out and cool off at the river or ocean.
At my favourite creek spot for the dog and one of the few off-leash areas where there is a nice wide and deep swimming spot, a family of four (without a dog) comes and sets up a picnic and play area for their kids using most of the shaded space on this side of the creek. They have slightly distanced themselves from the main group of humans and dogs in the hot sun.
Since I don’t feel like roasting on the sunny side, I try to put myself over where I’m not disturbing them and the dog won’t bother the picnic. After about five minutes of the dog fetching his ball and bringing it back to me, I can see the family eying me up, and finally, the dad approaches me.
Dad: “Excuse me, but were you planning on being here a while? We came over here to get away from the dogs.”
Me: “Oh, yes, we come here most days to get away from the sun and cool off. We usually swim and throw the ball for half an hour.”
Dad: “Well, we were here first, and as I said, we were hoping to avoid being around dogs with our kids and food.”
Me: “Well, I’m very sorry, but in case you weren’t aware, this is the only off-leash swimming spot locally, and if you go fifteen minutes down the river trail, there is actually a no-dogs beach with lots of shade.”
The dad repeats himself slightly more aggressively.
Me: “Sir, you and your family are taking up all over the shaded bank of the creek and have spread yourselves out in the middle of a dog park. I’m not sure what you’d like me to do as I have every right to use this area, as well.”
Dad: “And we have the right to not be bothered by you and your dog while we are trying to spend family time together. Maybe you should find another place to swim.”
I am hot, it is 35C (95F) out, and this guy is acting like he owns the beach. I snap.
Me: “I will be using this end of the beach. If you’re not comfortable around dogs, you should move to the non-dog-friendly beach down the trail.”
I turn and take a few steps away to make it clear the exchange is over, and I call the dog to me. He’s a good Labrador and very friendly, so he doesn’t understand when he’s not wanted.
But the last part makes me laugh. After being glared at for the better part of an hour while the dog swims and plays with others and I read my book, I decide to move on, and I have to go by the family to get to the trail. I throw one last ball into the creek, and after fetching it, the dog trots by the family, pausing to shake all over their chairs and phones. The mom starts spluttering. I just look at her, smile, and say:
Me: “There’s a non-dog-friendly beach just fifteen minutes down the trail!”