I'm sitting on a warm, slightly sloping rock just off the path in Point Pleasant Park, enjoying the sunshine and in fact wishing I had worn something a little cooler than jeans and a tshirt.

I'm sitting there, quietly reading The Coast, Halifax's free weekly entertainment magazine.

And the thing is, the dogs keep coming up to check me out.

They sneak up and put their nose on my arm or their head in my lap. Just nudging in but not really looking for petting, but just, you know, checking me out. They sniff and poke around a bit but they don't really DO anything. Nor do they seem to be looking for anything in particular. And when their owners call - and I mean, the path is kinda far from this rock, so they've already strayed from their owners to get to me - they just sort of ignore them.

This is really weird.

I don't even like dogs.
But they're lovin me today.

Do I smell like dog pee? Or a fire hydrant?
Do I look like a bowl of dog food?

When I realize they're not moving off, I awkwardly pat them on the head.

"Hi" I say quietly, "Um, it's time to go back to your mommy now."

And they call them and they continue to ignore them and just sort of stand beside me on my rock. With The Coast between us, flapping a little in the breeze.

Another awkward pat. "Ah, go get 'er, boy!"
I don't know what to say: I've never watched Lassie. And the Littlest Hobo was smarter than this.

Miss Owner is getting a little exasperated as she moves down the trail. She assures me the dog doesn't bite.

Clearly, or he probably would've bit me already for my retarded dog-patting efforts.

I continue to try to encourage the dog to go catch up. He appears confused. Someone is definitely calling its name. Although, it's clear to me this dog doesn't understand English: my directions have met deaf ears.

A couple of false starts and he finally, reluctantly carries on after his owner.

Friggen dogs. I don't smell THAT bad, do I?