Remonstrance

I may be murdered tonight, so I’ll write this blog just in case. If I don’t return from Bow Wow Beach, let everyone know I was murdered, and let them begin dredging that pond for my body.

No, I’m not kidding (very much).

Bow Wow beach is a little fishing pond in Stow which was recently opened up for pooches to poop on the sandy beach and frolic in the water scaring the fish. It seems  innocuous enough, but beware! Lurking beneath this doggie haven are the simmering tempers of crazy pet-owners waiting to burst against innocent fishermen (and boys).

The last time I went there with Connor, my 14-year-old son, we were trounced-upon by five red-faced, livid dog owners shrieking at us for endangering the lives of their dogs! Their rage went from non-existent to mob violence in a flash.

It started with a livid (BIG overweight) grit striding quickly towards Connor and I with his (BIG overweight) wife and white poodle in-tow:

“Are you crazy? What do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know fishing is not allowed here?” he was shouting at us as he approached.  “I am on the Parks and Recreation board, and you can’t fish here!”

“But it was the Parks and Recs people who told me I could fish here,” I said, holding a worm in mid-air, frozen by the sudden outburst.

“That’s a lie! Who told you that?” he yelled. (By now he was in front of me.)

“Brian Kelly…” I started to say, but the man’s (BIG) wife suddenly put her face about 12 inches away from mine (not exaggerating) and yelled, “ARE YOU GOING TO LEAVE OR DO WE HAVE TO CALL THE POLICE?”

Then another HUGE grit (about 6′ 5″, 350 lbs) suddenly appeared from behind: “Who do you think you are? You can’t fish here! It’s posted ‘No Fishing’ here!”

“There’s really no reason to get angry, I’m not trying to cause any trouble here,” I said, trying to calm these imposing figures down. Connor was shell-shocked, his mouth was open.

“Call the police,” the fat man said to his fat wife.

“I’m calling the police,” she said as she pulled out her phone.

“You’re endangering these dog’s lives,” the biggest gallute said. “Wonder if one of your hooks hooked our dog?”

“But that’s why I’m fishing away from the dogs,” I said (they had approached me, keep in mind).

“Are you going to leave or do I have to break that pole?” the biggest, fattest grit of all said as he lunged at my son to grab his pole. Connor ducked and ran to me.

“Connor, let’s get out of here,” I said, packing up our stuff.

Another man (not fat) appeared from behind me, “You can’t fish here!” he said. I noticed another woman (thankfully, thin and smallish, the only one I could probably survive a blow from) appeared behind the line of fat, big grits. She was showing her support by nodding her head quite energetically.

“It’s not illegal to fish here, and it’s not posted ‘no fishing,’” I said as we were walking away.

“I’ve called the police,” the fat woman said.

“Good! I hope they get here quick!” I said, and took Connor’s hand, leaving the park.

But amazingly, they all followed us out of the park with their dogs! By now I thought we were possibly not going to make it to the car. This was a mob action underway. I though of African-Americans who once lived in fear of lynch mobs just like this. I could see how mob action can get crazy without any provocation at all. I was a little surprised to see it from a “pooch mob.”

When the cops showed up, they interrogated me, ran checks on my license and car, sternly forbade me from smoking my pipe (we were standing in an open parking lot), and finally told me to leave immediately. Even though I explained the insane scenario, the violence, and asked for police protection, they continued to harass me and said little to the mob waiting in the background (lawbreakers–all of them–without leashes on their dogs,  I might add).

I told the cops fishing wasn’t against the rules. “The rules are posted right over there,” I said.

Guess what they said?  “You go online and find where it says you can fish here.”

I was flummoxed. “But, you’re allowed to fish iunless it’s posted otherwise,” I said. “Right?” (And, of course, it was not posted “No Fishing” at Bow Wow Beach).

“You need to go on the Parks and Rec site to find out if you’re allowed to fish here,” the cop said.

“But how can I find a rule that doesn’t exist?” I asked. “Aren’t we allowed to do things unless the law says otherwise?” Not according to this cop. He was grabbing his billy club by now, so I just thanked him and left.

But now I know better: having talked with my Parks & Rec connections, we are allowed to fish. So fish I must. And at Bow Wow Beach, too!

“But why fish there?” It’s a good question. The answer is simple: it’s stocked regularly, but nobody dares to fish there because of the pooch owners, and this is probably the best fishing spot in all northeast Ohio! Normally I don’t reveal my secret fishing holes, but in this case I think my chances for survival will increase if more fishermen show up at Bow Wow Beach.

So if I disappear, or if my body is found swinging at the end of a rope at Bow Wow beach, let it be known beforehand: I am a victim of Bow Wow Beach pooch violence.

Go read about Bow Wow Beach at their Web site here.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 5th, 2010 at 5:26 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.