Photo: Contributed

My vehicle turns the corner and I see her: she is wearing a pink, padded winter coat – collar raised to the cold; knitted hat pulled over blonde hair; she is a poster girl for feminine virtue. And by her side, leashed to her hand, struts a black punk demon: all snout and teeth, a walking menace, a Nazi-dog. The Doberman is bred for intimidation – a killing machine I associate with Auschwitz. “Touch my mistress,” it seems to say, “…and I’ll rip your throat out!” But I am simultaneously amused because she has dressed him in a padded coat of his own. It looks comical on this killer, like a tutu on Hulk Hogan.

As my vehicle completes the corner, a memory surfaces: I’m sitting on a bench beneath a lazy Willow tree in Brandt’s Creek Linear Park. It is summer, and I feel dozy in the late afternoon. A topless young man walks by displaying his virility for all to see. He sports an Iroquois cut and leads a brutish Bull Dog to whom he affectionately says, “Pass the ball now, pass the ball.” The Bull crushes the child’s toy between his jaws, and throats noises of canine pleasure. He is in no hurry to please his master.

My car parks itself in the company lot and I reflect on the increasing number of Pit Bulls and Rottweilers I have seen in the community. Dangerous dogs seem to be the rage nowadays and the newspapers often report attacks on children. Lassie, Old Yeller and Rin Tin Tin have been displaced by creatures bred to bite and not let go. But attack dogs are not pets – a Labrador Retriever is a pet; Bulls and Dobermans are the shadows of our fear.

As I walk to the entrance of my building my mind is a kaleidoscope: Kelowna morphing from a sleepy little summer-town into a four seasons destination. Images of gangs, drugs, and violence barely heard of twenty-five years ago populate my vision: K-town on the move, and with it the kinds of animals we invite into our home. They tell us about our inner needs, our fantasies and about how we experience the community in which we live.

I sit at my desk gazing at a bleak Kelowna winter and wonder about the young woman with the sleek, pitiless animal at her side. The contrast between her and her hound is surreal, despite the padded pink doggie coat. I wonder – is her muscle-dog a fashion statement or a gun?