I overhear this conversation between a child and his father.

Child: “Hey, Dad, what does ‘misanthropic’ mean?”

Father: “It means someone who likes dogs more than humans.”

Child: “…Huh. I guess I’m misanthropic?”

Father: “Most people are, son. Most people are.”

I’m a man in my mid-forties. I am taking a stroll in a small nature reserve near my house with my wife and dog.

Along the path, an older man around seventy years old is standing with his family (I assume) — a son and daughter perhaps, in their thirties. As we get closer, we see that the man is talking to his dog, a young husky, who sits in the grass in front of him — stuff like “sit” and “stay”.

As we pass, his (unleashed) pup stands up and walks toward our (leashed) dog. They seem friendly, so I let them sniff and greet each other.

The man walks up to me with an authoritarian CEO-like air about him and points and waves his finger at me in a belittling manner.

Man: “Can’t you see that I am training my dog? You should not let your dog distract my dog when I am obviously training him!”

I have worked very hard for years to become my own boss and not have anyone tell me what to do. I’m not planning on having a stranger treat me like he is my boss. I am a peaceful guy normally, but this man has struck the wrong chord. I get angry and copy his finger-pointing.

Me: “You don’t get to talk to me that way. Do you always talk to strangers like that?”

The man’s family in the background awkwardly glances at him, obviously ashamed of him.

Man: “YES, BUT YOU SHOULD NOT—”

Me: *Interrupting* “That dog should be on a leash!”

That is the rule of the nature reserve, and there are high fines if you get caught.

Man: “You are right about that, but I am training him, and you should—”

Me: *Interrupting again* “You should learn how to talk to strangers and show some manners!”

Then, I turned my back to him and walked away, saying, “Unbelievable!” to my wife, just loud enough to make sure the man heard me.

He spluttered on a bit, but we ignored him from that point. To be honest, I felt quite good about how I handled this. A few years ago, I probably would have let him walk all over me. Not anymore!

Our nature park has a river tour that takes visitors a few miles downstream, and then it’s a hike back to the parking lot and visitor’s center

Tourist: “How long does it take for the river to bring me back?”

Me: “What do you mean, ‘back’?” 

Tourist: “How long does it take for the river to bring me back? As in back to this spot?”

Me: “You don’t get back to this spot. You need to hike back.” 

Tourist: “But we use the tubes on the river at the waterparks back home, and they always come back around.”

Me: “Those are theme parks. This is nature.”

Tourist: “But they call them rivers!” 

Me: “Real rivers don’t go in loops.”

Tourist: “That’s stupid! You should call your rivers something else!”

Me: “I’m pretty sure our rivers came first.”

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!”

My young daughter has just been given a new scooter and wants to ride it to the playground for her first ride. I walk alongside her, and she parks it when we arrive at the playground. As soon as she gets off, an older girl beelines to us and jumps on the scooter. 

Daughter: “Excuse me, that’s mine.”

The girl tries to adjust the handlebar, so I put my hand on it. 

Me: *To the girl* “Sorry, sweetheart. This isn’t yours.”

The girl tries to push my hand off.

Girl: “I’m going to ride it.”

Me: “No, you aren’t. Please get off.”

Girl: “She has to share.”

Me: “No, she doesn’t.”

Her mother realizes something is going on and walks over. 

Mother: “What’s going on?”

Me: “This is my daughter’s scooter, and she doesn’t want to share it. Can you please ask your daughter to get off?”

Mother: *Rolls her eyes* “Oh, come on! That’s not a very good example for your child. Just let her ride it. You brought it to a public park. Your daughter’s not currently riding it, so she can share.”

Me: “Ma’am, did you drive here?”

Mother: “Of course I did!”

Me: “Great! We walked. Since you’re not currently using your car, can I use it? You brought it to a public area and aren’t using it, so you can share, too. Or maybe even your cell phone? Shouldn’t be a problem since you want to be a good example for your child after all, right?”

She stared at me for a moment before briskly grabbing her daughter and walking off.