The Forest Preserves around Chicago attract dogs. More properly, I should say, the Forest Preserves attract dog owners. Dog owners eager to give faithful Rover a taste of The Wild, dog owners who want to let Rover run, and dog owners too lazy to follow Good Dog Owner Etiquette.
The good folks down at Forest Preserve Central know this, and have taken the owners and their dogs into account. “DOGS MUST BE KEPT ON LEASHES AT ALL TIMES” announce little signs at the entrance to each Preserve grove. Not nearly as inventive as the Village Fathers of the Village of Mt. Prospect, who several years ago spent good money to erect a series of genuine wood signs, with that sort of fake recessed wood-burning look, that announced “PLEASE CLEAN UP AFTER DOG’S”. But you know, I think they were probably too busy arguing about which used car dealer would get access to which small tract of unused land along Rand Road to go down there and ask them, “Dog’s what?”. Vanilla as they may be, however, in comparison to Mt. Prospect, I think the Forest Preserve signs are still fairly explicit.
Naturally, these signs are widely ignored. I personally don’t mind dogs running around, and if I owned one, I’d probably be down there, leading the pack, so to speak. Occasionally, you see why they have the rule though, when some bowser takes out after a horse, nipping and yapping. The fact that most horses you find in a Forest Preserve generally have riders who might be thrown off makes this offense even worse. But for the most part, the on-going battle between Unleashed Dogs and The Law provides mucho entertainment.
The entertainment usually takes a mild form. Unleashed Dog and Unleashing Owner are walking across a field, half a mile from the parking lot, when one of Cook County’s Finest Sheriff’s Deputies pulls up into the parking lot in his squad car. [Cheesy police bullhorn mode on] “YOU HAVE TO PUT YOUR DOG ON A LEASH!”. Dog and owner walk on, oblivious, a half mile away. “PUT YOUR DOG ON A LEASH!”. Dog and owner walk on. [Cheesy police bullhorn mode off] This goes on for awhile, until the deputy gives up or the Dog Owner feels guilty and quits pretending not to hear, and our Softball League (which the deputies inexplicably and inexcusably kick out of the Preserves on a fairly regular basis for picnicking and dancing “Sprockets” dances in the parking lots past the posted sunset closing time) either secretly cheers or boos, depending on the outcome.
Sometimes, though, the entertainment exceeds the normal. Some deputies just won’t take no as an answer, and we are treated to the spectacle of an overweight Barney Fife taking off after the dogs on foot, or hitting the lights, peeling out of the parking lot, and taking off down the sidestreets in the car, hoping to intercept The Perpetrators further down the road. What fun! And Unleashed Dogs can surprise. Once a U.D. stretched a simple double into a homerun when he snatched up our softball and trotted off into the woods. When the Really Competitive Players finished arguing about whether or not this was a Truly Legal Homerun, they were surprised to find the rest of us incapacitated by laughter.
But my favorite Unleashed Dog Incident occurred a couple of winters back, on a day when my girlfriend had convinced me to take a winter walk in the woods, at the grove up by Harms Road and Glenview, where there’s a nice little bridge over some branch of the Chicago River. It had been snowing, and there was 4″ or 5″ of fluffy snow on the ground – a perfect day for a quiet stroll in the woods. We parked the car in the lot and set off across the acorn field for the bridge, and the wild places beyond.
As we approached the little turn through the trees that leads to the bridge, a tremendous clamor arose just ahead. At first we heard just the sounds of a dogfight, all snarling and yapping, but soon a stentorian human voice joined the fray. “SAMSON! NOOOOOOOOOOOO! THOR! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” As we came through the trees and walked onto the bridge, a truly wonderful spectacle revealed itself to us. On the far bank of the river, below the footpath, three dogs and two humans were wrestling, literally wrestling on the ground, as the owners tried to break up the dogfight. “GODDAMMIT THOR! NOOOOOOO!” The owner of the two big dogs, which were instigating the fight, was trying to keep his two dogs off a poor little mutt, whose owner was trying to shield his dog with his body.
The effort was a losing one, though. No sooner would the big dog owner collar one of his charges than the other would escape and resume the attack. The small dog owner would twist and squirm away from the attack, curling his body around his dog, and the big dog owner would rise up on one knee and try to lunge after the latest escapee. The collared dog would escape. As a result of all the twisting and squirming, and lunging after dogs, the whole melee of teeth and fur and arms and legs was slowly sliding down the steep muddy riverbank, through the fresh snow and mud, toward the icy green water of the North Branch of the Chicago River.
“SAMSON! NOOOOOOOOOO! YOU SON OF A BITCH THOR! NOOOOOOOO!”
Finally a passing third dog owner (whose dog WAS leashed) captured one of the large dogs, and the large dog owner managed a Hungarian Death Lock on Thor (or was it Samson?). The whole flailing, muddy mass – two large dogs, one small dog, and three humans – slowly ground to a halt just inches from the water, as Thor (or was it Samson?) finally realized further struggles were in vain. The only sound that remained in the woods was my hysterical laughter.
We decided to cut the walk short after that, and returned to the car. From the look the large dog owner had given me, I took it he did not share my appreciation of the humor of the situation. And he did have two large Unleashed Dogs.
Author/Copyright: Tiger, of tigerwhip.com fame Date written: 11/10/1994