The Dogs of Linden Hills

I live in a charming neighborhood called Linden Hills, named after the Linden trees that line the neighborhood. Next door to me is a park named, naturally, Linden Hills Park. The sun room of my house looks over the park where there are many activities every season of the year. Outdoor movies (with popcorn) in the summer, corn roasts in early fall, horse drawn sleigh rides in the winter, a yearly festival in May. Soccer and baseball games, ice hockey, tennis, basketball, playgrounds, and picnics. There are people and families and dogs and bikes from sun up to sun down. I call it a "Norman Rockwell" kind of neighborhood. 

But something called the coronavirus pandemic brought most of that activity to a halt. All sports and festivals canceled. The park building, tennis courts and playground closed. Sitting in my sun room watching, well, nothing, was sad. Indicative of the times. But then I noticed the dogs. There had always been a lot of dogs walking by. But the number of dogs and their humans seemed to blossom three times before my eyes. "Big dogs, little dogs, blue dogs, green dogs." (Well, not really, but one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books of all time.) So many dogs. What could I do for those dogs? I read somewhere that someone put dog treats in their little library for all the neighborhood dogs. Bingo! That's what I would do! I already had a little library. So I borrowed a couple of my own dog's treats (don't tell her) and put a small bowl of them in the library. I honestly didn't think any of the dogs, much less their humans, would notice the treats. But, they found them. The dogs (not the humans) found them. At first, it was the pretense of peeing by the library. But once they did that, they smelled the treats. Like clockwork. 

Sitting in my sun room, day after day, I noticed even more dogs than ever before walking by the little library. Their tails wagging, pulling their owners, sitting patiently (or not) while their humans opened the library and got their treat. It warmed my heart. I got to meet some of the humans and dogs through the summer, but because of Covid, not nearly enough for me. But I knew the number of dogs visiting was getting bigger and bigger, because I had to fill the dog bowl almost every day. In between, lovely humans were writing sweet notes telling me how much their dogs loved the treats. 

Eventually, the dog treats took over the whole library, so my husband built an addition to the library shaped like a dog house, with enough space for more treats. (He's a keeper.) Then, of course, the Dog House needed a name. "The Bone Bar" it was.     

As Covid went on and on, and winter came, I wondered exactly how many dogs and humans WERE coming by here every day? That's how it came to be that I put a little notebook on the door, asking the humans to write in who was visiting, their breed and where they lived. First was Oskar, a white poodle, who belonged to some friends of mine that I hadn't seen for years. (Oskar is anti-social, according to his owner.) Then it was O'Malley, who was a labradoodle, and whose human dropped off treats often. O'Malley's human dropped off a letter saying that as soon as they started walking, O'Malley would pull them towards our house, and would not stop until she got her treat. Then it was Odessa. Kelly. Watermelon (Melly). Zoe. Zelda. Hunter. Another Oscar. Chloe and Bella, whose human sent me a picture of them at The Bone Bar, saying that if they ever ran away from home, she would know where to find them.   

At this point, you may be thinking, "She's a little goofy about this whole Bone Bar thing."  I would wholeheartedly agree with you. See, I spent most of my life traveling, being away from home two or three days a week. It's hard to have any normalcy with that kind of schedule. Now, with Covid, and eventually retiring unexpectedly from that job, I had time. Loads of time. Too much time. But watching the activity and traffic at The Bone Bar, and being able to keep a close eye on it everyday, was warming a part of my heart that was lonely. Right around the holidays, I had about forty dog names in my little book. They all got a holiday bag of treats. Now it is Valentine's Day, and they all got a Valentines treat bag. And what about me? I got joy, and love and happiness. I got a purpose. I can't disappoint those dogs. So, whether the temperature is minus nine or 99 degrees, I am happily filling The Bone Bar and watching unadulterated, pure joy, right in front of my eyes.