Laurel Canyon Dog Park Means Paradise for Dog Walkers

I've been to a few dog parks in my time, but I was super excited to check out the Laurel Canyon Park with my miniature Dachshund. The park's located on three acres nestled between several picturesque hills.

Judging from the pictures, I envisioned some sort of dog Shangri-La with broccoli-shaped trees and Mary Poppin-esque park benches. I envisioned my dog Lola running along dirt paths, her tongue hanging happily out of the corner of her mouth as she frolicked joyfully with other canines.

Boy, did I have it wrong. When Lola and I arrived, we found close to 50 intimidating large dogs roaming on mostly grass-free dirt, soaked so thoroughly with dog urine that the smell was a tad overwhelming.

Sure, the fenced off area was large enough that it didn't feel cluttered with dogs or really look it, but the stench said otherwise. Lola tucked her tail between her legs and started drooling all over herself in thick, white strands. I carried her to the "small & timid dogs only" area and closed the fence behind me, hoping fun would somehow be had.

A nice gay couple from West Hollywood approached me and expressed sympathy for my freaked out pooch.

"Do you need a paper towel?" one asked, motioning toward the drool hanging from Lola's frothy mouth.

I nodded. "That would be great, thanks." He left for his car and returned with one. I wiped the spit away, but the drool kept on coming. I placed Lola on the ground.

She walked around a bit and cautiously sniffed the butt of a cocker spaniel before hiding behind a park bench. She trailed behind her a long strand of thick, dirt coated spit so gooey that it never dropped to the ground despite the mass it continued to accumulate.

A mom and her daughter soon entered with their hyper American Eskimo dog, who quickly trounced the water bowl and began terrorizing the other small dogs. I lifted Lola onto my lap.

"Did you hear that coyote?" the woman asked. We all shook our heads.

"During the day?" the gay man asked.

She nodded and told us the coyote was lingering on the outskirts behind the fences of the park. "Oh yeah, when the sun goes down you can hear them all closing in," she added.

Maybe that's what my dog was smelling...

A dog walker briskly entered and released 10 medium-sized dogs into the small dog area, then went back to her car. The dogs wandered freely, unsupervised.

My new gay friends sarcastically quipped, "Gee, I hope I can find someone responsible like that to watch my dog."

More walkers arrived. So many pooches poured out of their vehicles that they resembled clown cars. In a period of 15 minutes, four more dog walkers showed up with a minimum of eight dogs each.

The dog walker who dumped the small dogs in our area returned to check on the animals in her care. She ran back and forth a few times with them, then before leaving said to me, "I've never seen a Dachshund drool that much."

I told her she was scared, semi-gesturing to all the crazy dogs she left unsupervised in the small dog space.

"Yeah, you've got to be careful. They can break their backs really easily."

Thanks for the tip, careless dog whisperer.

With that she was off. Another non-dog walker showed up with her poodle and a Dachshund. She told me her Dachshund doesn't really like dog parks.

I looked at Lola, clearly having the worst time of her life and realized that, heck, I didn't like dog parks. They were smelly, dangerous, breeding grounds for disease. Why was I making myself let alone my dog suffer through this?

The Mill Valley Dog Park in Northern California is still the only dog park I've seen with actual grass and that didn't smell like a barn.

With that realization, we made our exit. I held open the gate to help three more overwrought dog walkers enter inside.

You can have the place, I thought. And given that so few private dog owners cared to bring their pooches to this particular park, the dog walkers clearly did.