Lately, I have started taking my two dogs, Willa and Colbert, to “The Fields,” an unofficial dog park in my neighborhood. The Fields is a large expanse of green that is curved, like a lopsided bowl. If your dogs have reasonable recall, you don’t have to worry about letting them off-leash in this unfenced area because the bowl shape makes the nearby road invisible and thus un-tempting.
It’s lovely. And like most places where dogs and their humans converge, everyone knows everyone’s . . . dog’s name. I’m new to the scene, but Jerry and Penny and Goose have already made an impression, as have Halibut, Lady, and Dodger. I couldn’t pick their humans out of a lineup; we are like canine accessories.
One evening last week, I was watching Willa spar with a smaller dog, and I did not notice that Colbert had started to slink away, following a golden retriever. He gets crushes very easily; this was at least his second of the night.
Before I knew it, Colbert was far away from me, loping up the lip of the bowl, following the leashed retriever home towards the very busy street.
I walked briskly toward him, yelling “Colbert, come!” I waited a beat and yelled, “COLBY! COME!”
And then something utterly mundane and remarkable happened. From all around me, I heard voices yelling, “Colby, come!” “COLBY! COME!” And Colby turned around and loped back to me.
That was a sacred moment. A sacred democratic moment. Strangers reflexively jumped in to care for the most vulnerable.
It was the simplest thing, but it was hardly inevitable. Everyone could have kept to themselves, worried only about their own dog, and let me deal with my problem myself. Instead of calling for Colby, they could have whispered to one another, “She shouldn’t bring her dog here if she can’t get him to come.”
I am used to accepting this rugged individualism from my fellow Americans, adherents to a religion that consecrates the spiritual practice of utter self-absorption.
So of course this moment felt holy: interconnectivity was revealed, and a higher law was answered to.
I drove home feeling lighter: grateful and hopeful. I worry a lot about the big democracies — the branches of government at state and national levels — but at The Fields that night I experienced a micro-democracy, and it worked, and it felt good, and it has made me want to identify other micro-democracies.
Locate a micro-democracy in your world. Define micro-democracy for yourself, but it might be a space (physical or virtual) where strangers or acquaintances take care of one another for the common good of all, a space where individualism dissolves and people answer to a higher call to help one another.
Take some time to reflect on what elements make this micro-democracy possible. Identify your role and others’ roles so that you can actively help to sustain this life-giving space; name any threats to the sustainability of this micro-democracy.
Finally, tell us about your micro-democracy! Your sharing will inspire our readers. Reach out via our Facebook or Instagram pages, or send us an email, and maybe we will feature your story in a future week.