His Photoshop skills are less than spectacular, but we're working with a trainer.
Anyway, dog parks.
I didn't know what I was getting into when I started showing up at the dog park. All I wanted was a place where I could take Jackson off his leash, a place with a wide open space where he and I could race each other and do wind sprints in the morning.
I had not anticipated dog park culture being a thing. See, when a new dog shows up, every member of the pre-existing dog gang will immediately swarm to sniff, investigate and meet the new member. It turns out owners of the dogs do the exact same thing with new owners.
"Hi, hey, hi, hello! Are you new? You smell new! Do you love this park we love this park! I love you. Hello!"
My very first day at the park, I was bombarded by a team of dog owners who wanted to meet and evaluate me. Dog Park People are perfectly nice, but there's just something immediately personal about them that makes me uneasy. They decide that, by virtue of the fact that you have a dog and brought it to a park, you're already part of the same special fraternity. They're instantly familiar, and they want to know everything about your dog and tell you everything about their dogs. They want to ask lots of questions, which is terrible, because questions are scary.
Why Awkward People Hate It