“The opposite of anarchy is warfare, and the war is on at Duffeeland Dog Park.”

The Duffeeland Dog Park may finally be meeting its demise. I wrote about this – the takeover by the Rec Center of what had been a perfectly functioning anarchy – but I predicted a much earlier denouement.

Here’s the story I wrote, way back in 2013:

“The opposite of anarchy is warfare, and the war is on at Duffeeland Dog Park.”

A Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Willie story

Sun City, June 27, 2013
This is a story about how the world gets shittier and shittier – utterly unnecessarily – one stinky little turd at a time.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Thus spake Commandante Clipboard, the Sun City Recreation Center’s micro-minion charged with annoying people and their dogs at the Duffeeland Dog Park.

His is not my first clipboard – hell is heaven after it was reorganized by busybodies with clipboards – so I said, “I think I need to pass on that opportunity.”

“Okaythen,” he forged ahead obliviously, “Can I ask where–uh… Wuh– ?”

“I said, no, I would rather you did not ask me any questions.”

I was there with Naso, of course, and we had stayed too late in the day. It used to be that the park was open twenty-four hours a day, but since the Rec Center took it over locks and chains and orders backed by threats are the order of the day.

“But I have to know if you belong here.”

“Now there’s a topic fit for a philosopher. I am imminent, surely, but does my imminence make me immanent? But, really, practically speaking, addressing such subjects is no path to eminence, much less prominence, and I speak from a lifetime of experience.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Commandante Clipboard was getting steamed, and I confess to taking a certain satisfaction from this particular flavor of petty vengeance.

“I’m trying to help you determine if I belong here. I would argue that my presence is an existential instantiation of a contingent, temporary inevitability: I am here by my own free choice, but while I am here I am incontrovertibly here, I am not anywhere else, and no one else is where I am. If that doesn’t equate to belonging here, then you’ll have to do your own homework.”

“Sir. What is your full name?”

I said, “Nescio Nomen” – which means ‘I don’t know my name’ in Latin. I was helpful enough to spell things out for him.

But the trouble with being a smart ass is that people can get the idea you’re cooperating with them. “Can I see your Rec Center card?”

“I expect you can. You don’t show any signs of impaired vision.” That was a canard on my part. I tried being formally polite. I tried being a smart ass. What could be an easier sell in Sun City than an addle-pated old geezer?

“Mister Nomen, will you please show me your Recreation Centers of Sun City membership card?”

“Nope. I don’t have my wallet with me, but I don’t have your card in there, anyway. And I would not choose to show it to you if I had it plastered to my ass and could kill two birds with one stone. If you want to put me off this land, go get a gun or a cop. Until you do, I’ll thank you to leave me alone.”

What puts the shit into a little turd? Authority without accountability. What brings the shit out of that little turd by the geyserload? Holding him accountable anyway. Before he could latch onto a handle to fly off of, I said, “Let me talk for a minute, and then let’s see if we can make a deal, okay?”

I didn’t wait for him to respond, I just launched into my schtick. “This park used to be the perfect anarchy, a little piece of paradise in the midst of the mundane. One man owned it as his own private property, and he shared it with his neighbors – with anyone who loves dogs and wants what’s best for them. And the people and their dogs loved him and they loved this park and they took care of it like it was their own.

“And this is the only dog park in all of Phoenix where there is decent shade. And Duffeeland was the cleanest dog park in The Valley, even though most of the people who come here aren’t all that spry. And the park was open all hours, and it was safe to come here anytime. We’ve met a lot of interesting people here after midnight, and more than once my wife and I have made out on a bench while Naso here took in her late-night sniff.

“But then the owner sold the land and the Rec Center bought it, and everything has been downhill since then. Chained up all night, right away, even though the night-time is the right time for a desert dog to take exercise. And then the signs came and the threats and the fines and recriminations. It’s not ours any longer, it’s yours – and it shows. The dog shit’s starting to pile up, but that’s just a symptom. The people here used to be a ‘we’ – a loose-knit family. Now they’re an ‘us’ – because you’re ‘them.’ The opposite of anarchy is warfare, and the war is on at Duffeeland Dog Park.

“But think: Before one man owned the park and everyone valued it. Now everyone owns it and no one values it. Before a group of people who got along perfectly worked together joyously in pursuit of the values they shared together. Now there are spoils up for grabs and power to be seized and innocent people to be shamed and bullied and milked and pit against each other, and the spirit of family – this thing that we do together means more to me than something else I might do instead – that spirit is all but gone from Duffeeland. It vanishes every time people try to supplant force for persuasion, coercion for cooperation, warfare for anarchy…”

To this he said nothing. My guess is he was bored. Sun City is full of amazing people – people who built business empires, people who won wars – but the young idiots who do the scut work around here quite literally have no way of comprehending that greatness. An ant could climb all the way to the top of a skyscraper and yet never catch a clue of what he’s doing, so it just won’t do to ask him to evaluate giants.

I said, “Here’s my thinking: The Rec Center is essentially a homeowner’s association, so its real job is to sustain the value of the real estate. How would you do that? By making people feel welcome, at home, delighted to be here. Is there anything in the ways that people react to you that makes you think they are delighted to see you show up?”

I held up my hand. “Don’t answer. I’m over my quota on lies for the day. In the long run, warfare will win here. You will drive people so crazy, they’ll stop coming to Duffeeland, and then the Rec Center will sell the land as a matter of fiscal prudence. In five years, this will just be another drive-through pharmacy, with access from both directions. Sic transit gloria mundi.

“But here’s my deal: My dog is dying. I’m here until she dies, and then I’m gone with the monsoon winds. I’ll be back to Sun City, but I’ll never be back to Duffeeland. Now it happens that this big, gangly Bloodhound bitch is the queen of this particular dog park. Everyone loves her, and she loves everyone. If you want to make a big show of throwing your weight around, you can endure the shrieks of three-dozen angry grannies. Or, instead, you can forget all about me for two more weeks, and then we’ll both work hard to forget each other forever. Sound like a plan?”

He was looking away, deliberately not making eye contact. Nobody likes to back down, but I’m betting he could guess how much more he had to lose in a dog park war than I ever would. After a long time he turned to me and said, “You have yourself a nice evening, Mister Nomen.”

I didn’t fix anything, don’t kid yourself. I’ve talked my way out of the endless shit that oozes out of officious shitheads all my life, but I’m sure it’s because I just don’t look quite like food to them. But warfare is conducted by people, and people can be swayed. I don’t love it that I have to defend myself from petty thugs, but I love it that I can do it when I need to.

So I smiled, and I really tried to put some warmth into it. “Happy Independence Day.”