A pile of dogs was spotted this weekend in the park. It was a bit like John Carpenter’s The Thing except all the dogs were happy and wagging. I walked past slowly, unsure whether or not I was in danger.
I was not, it turned out.
The dogs began happy panting and the wagging became more intense and bizzare.
I moved toward the dog pile and lifted my hand for a sniff, the universal sign of getting to know a strange dog. This dog was very strange. I watched as it tumbled closer to me. The nearest dogs heads with tongues wagging and the furthest dogs whining to be closer.
I knelt down to pet the closest heads and tell the bundle of fur what a good dog it was. It reacted with more fevoured wagging.
I walked around the pile, petting each head, scratching between ears and booping noses as I went. All told, it was about 27 dogs. 27 happy heads, 27 waggy tails and many, many legs.
I said goodbye to the pile.
As I walked away I reflected on how this moment still wasn’t the strangest thing to have happened to me today.