Before I set up some poles for Banksy to practice, we were walking around the pond. A little caravan of bikes with trailers carrying things and a couple of dogs arrived to the pond path, too. All kinds of people go to the pond to fish, to walk their dogs, to swim their dogs, to drink, to walk around, to paddle little boats, to look at birds, to smoke, to shoot drugs, to sleep. Surrounded by the farm where I get my vegetables, the train tracks over the willowy swamp, some office buildings, some industrial buildings, just down from the huge gummy bear factory.

When you eat gummy bears, they might come from near our pond. It’s a nice spot we all share. We’re lucky to have it. A little slice of unregulated space.

On a Friday night, almost dark, there are mostly guys fishing and drinking and fighting down there, all the swim spots were busy. So we were just walking the path to the trestle, then I thought I’d get the poles out of the car for Banksy to practice on the dirt patch that used to be a lawn. That stupid right angle soft side entrance we have such a hard time with, that is the one that still eludes us. I keep some poles in the car I can stick in the dirt and I stick them every place I can find.

The leader of the caravan is a woman. I see them sometimes, pushing their bikes down the highway, not sure if they come from the ravine or one of the RVs that park on the dirt shoulders til they get ticketed enough times to move. Their dogs ride in their trailers. Good dogs, probably way better manners than mind, they ride so nice in those little bike trailers.

Most space is regulated around here. We’re so glad to have a free spot. No cops or rules, just a free spot where everybody can be.

When she saw all of us walking towards the swim spot she wanted, she got real mad.

I hadn’t wanted the swim spot anyways. Too cold for dogs to swim, and there were already some guys fishing there. Dog swimming and fishing poles doesn’t work together. We were walking away. Sometimes it takes some convincing to get Banksy to walk away, she’s last one to get it when it’s a no swim day.

The lady was mad though. Tweaker style mad.

“This is our private place! These dogpark people! Like this is a dogpark!” she starts screaming, to nobody exactly. Maybe the guys in her caravan.

Maybe at me. Because she grabs a tennis racket out of her trailer where her little dog rides, and shakes it at me, “People think this is a dogpark! Our private place!”

I don’t think much of it. Crazy people abound. She was wearing rainboots. I was happy to move on.

We walked for a while, then I went back up to my car and got out 6 poles, stuck them in the ground. I can see the caravan lady now’s built a little nest in some weeds near the only flat place where the dirt is soft enough for my poles. It’s one of my main practice areas. Maybe not exactly allowed to practice dog agility there, but not exactly allowed to build a resting nest in it’s weeds either. It’s just a space.

Weave poles aren’t real loud, but I do yell YAY a lot. Every time that soft side hard angle entry goes swell. It goes swell most of the times, except for a few that don’t. Maybe as loud as the guys I heard brawling from the fishing dock earlier, but their yelling went on longer. The sun is almost down. Ten good times through the poles is plenty. That’s not so many yays.

A few, though, that’s enough for the lady. She jumps up and screams, “This is my PRIVATE PLACE! I AM TRYING TO HAVE SOME ALONE TIME! EVERY PLACE HERE YOU PICK THIS PLACE MY PRIVATE PLACE!”

I have to think about this a second. I did pick her private place. It also happens to be mine.

Usually it’s a good plan with the meth people, just don’t engage. A trio of tweakers shot two people a bit further north last week, one of them just out walking his dog. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, since our house got broken into and since I’m up here in the north a lot more instead of working down south. It’s different up here now, where I’ve lived for so long.

I call back, “This is the public space! We share! Land for everybody!”

In hindsight, that was reasonable, and reasoning with people who’s minds may be working different doesn’t usually work. She starts freaking out and screaming more stuff, especially GOD BLESS YOU GOD BLESS YOU GOD BLESS YOU, and packs up her area. I do a few more poles, just wanted a few before the sun was all the way down.

She storms out with her bike and her dog and her stuff, and stops at the bottom of the hill to stand and scream, really loud. She’s met her friends again down there, pointing up at me, and stares at me and starts screaming. Kind of like a coyote. I toss the ball a few more times. That was our enough. Really didn’t mean to mess up her chill, just trying to get those weave poles down before someday.

I packed up the poles and carried them back to the car. Gustavo loves to find the car, that’s one of his good tricks. He runs there really fast and waits to jump in the back. Means we’re going Home! Saw the caravan pushing their bikes back up towards the highway in the dark, not sure where they were headed, I suspect a very different kind of home than us.