One might assume that such a place as Loves could sink no lower in refinement—and yet, I discovered the dog park.
Allow me to correct the term. It was not a park, but a square—nay, a pen. A patch of struggling grass boxed in by chain link.
Within this arena of filth, dogs frolicked, defecated, and barked without cease or cause, a cacophony of slobber and fury. Their owners—truckers of the most alarming morphology—watched on, shirtless or nearly so, sipping Mountain Dew and sharing what I can only assume were war stories from the battlefield of I-40.
I did not enter. I observed from a distance, clutching my soda and what remained of my dignity.
Now, to be fair—and fairness is, alas, my burden—the dogs were merely being dogs. It is not their fault that they were bred without discretion or brought to this suburban place of abject misery by men who resemble oil stains brought to life. But as a man who does not care for dogs—nor their pungent emissions, nor their uninhibited social conduct—I found the entire affair abhorrent.
It was like watching a Roman bathhouse but with fleas and Crocs.
One star. Not because it was poorly executed, but because its very existence...
Read moreGreat facility to let the pup run around but if you have a small dog they can get under the gate. There...
Read moreIt was a great experience. I really loved the fact that it's a friendly place for dogs to go and...
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