It's a Good Thing They Weren't Served Drinks

Imagine you’re attending a cocktail party. Everyone around you is dressed nicely. Not to the nines, but definitely cleaned up for the occasion. You’re in a nice sized room; people are mingling with cabernets in hand and nibbling on a nice array of finger food like roasted pork crostini with raspberry mustard, shrimp, meatballs, and black bean and corn salsa. You get the picture. Now -- introduce into this lovely atmosphere thirty dogs... running free! Changes your image a bit, doesn’t it? Civility gives way to chaos. Wine refills occur at higher than normal intervals to replace the cups unhanded from folks who think they’re dodging bullets or freight trains. Dogs ricochet off legs, human legs that is. “Keep your knees bent” is the advice of the moment.

This was the scene I found myself in the other evening at “Planet Bark,” the place we board Mojo when we’re out of town. The irrepressible new owner, Mary, wants to more actively market Planet Bark in what has become a fairly competitive market for such places in suburban Charleston. When I arrive, I applaud her bravery. She acknowledges that she’s not sure the event might spin out of control, but she’s all smiles. And, she’s right. A good time will be had by all. Or, almost all.

And, the dogs? My God -- so many butts to sniff, so many legs to bite, so much rolling on the floor to be done! So much humping to be had! Mojo, not -- how you say -- calm when in the company of other canines, bursts at warp speed from one corner of the room to another as if he is on the receiving end of a life sentence to cease and desist from any butt sniffing except what he can take in over the next hour or so. Many are willing. Sunny, a lab mix and Sanford, an English bulldog apparently experience the same ecstasy Mojo has found as they roll around the floor in one undifferentiated hairy mass, teeth gnashing, tails wagging. Bliss doggy-style. Others are not so thrilled. Threading their way around and through the legs of the human guests, the more timid dogs -- with mixed success -- try to elude the more aggressive four-legged party animals (if I may use that term). They whine, sometimes growl in mock anger while their owners down their crostini hoping that it is not their dogs who are engaging in overly boorish behavior. Mojo assumes the always pleasing submissive legs-up position in wrestling bouts which appears to earn him a pass from most, if not all, party attendees. Mojo -- regardless of his many endearing traits -- earns me special attention from a couple of dog trainers in attendance who apparently believe my dog is -- shall we say-- a good candidate for behavior modification. Puppy exuberance, I assure them.

After almost two hours of this mayhem, I take my leave, probably to the relief of some. Mojo is wet from the absurd amount of saliva he’s been smeared with from the other dogs. His tongue is hanging out the side of his mouth and his countenance is oddly similar to that of a mad bomber’s. I get him into the back seat of my car. As I turn around to see where I’m backing out, I note he is dead asleep.

Richly earned, my friend.