Posted By startswithanx on July 23, 2010

There’s something that’s been bothering me for a while now. About 10 months to be exact. It comes down to exclusion. It comes down to a private club I haven’t and won’t be invited to join. It comes down to the dog park, my friends.

A group of men gather there around 7 a.m. every day. When we first got Penny I couldn’t help but notice this pack of older gentleman. They’re all over 60. They all have dogs of varying breeds. One has a scruffy little mutt. Another has two of those supersized poodles, the ones you forget even exist until you catch the Westminster on a slow TV day. And I forget what the others have. Hell, the others may not even have dogs. They might just come for the atmosphere that sometimes feels like it needs cigar smoke and playing cards.

While strolling the vast stretch of lawn that is my dog park, I’ve picked up a few of their conversations. The topics range from proper screen door installation to erectile dysfunction. As Ice-T in the late ’80s would say, I ain’t even tryin’ to lie to you. They get into heated discussions and occasionally drop “f” bombs. Anytime this happens and I’m within ear shot, they look up at me like guilty schoolboys, tip their hats and all but hand me a Werther’s Original.

About three months into my dog park visits, I discovered that this club isn’t exclusive to old white dudes. It’s exclusive to men. That was around the time Bear’s owner started bringing him around. Bear’s a little bastard of a dog who once tried pummeling Penny. At which time his owner shouted his name repeatedly while stomping toward him and clapping his hands together. Um, Bear’s owner could play the stand-in for this dude:

Now you know why I said Bear TRIED pummeling Penny.

Anyway, I wouldn’t have cared about this club that makes me feel like I’m knocking on a tree house door that has a rickety  “Boys only, no girls allowed!” sign hanging from it, but then this happened. After that lady threw her dogs a birthday party, invited the Dog Park Boys Club and didn’t invite Penny, I was a little bitter, but eventually got over it. And then something else happened.

I witnessed a game of dogshit horseshoes. Never heard of it? That’s because the Dog Park Boys Club invented it. They take the bags that hold their dogs’ poop, tie the ends of them and try and toss them into the garbage cans from about 20 yards away.

Every time I passed those inaccurate-aiming fools I was THIS CLOSE to asking if I could play. I pitched softball for years. I knew I could school those suckas. But I never spoke up. … Once again, I eventually got over it. But, the most recent offense — this one I’m not sure I can overcome.

It looks like this:

Guess who’s inside that tent? The pack of old men and Bear’s owner, probably smoking cigars, playing poker and getting lap dances. Still not following why a tent would enrage me? I live in Vegas, people. I live in it-was-112-degrees-on-Tuesday Vegas.

I rest my case. Now, how can I break down the barriers and make my way into this club that is clearly more exclusive than the VIP section at Diddy’s White Party?

Categories: men, question, this happened