On a September afternoon in 2011, Roxy, Blitz, Kal-El and I went to the dog park. It was their favorite place to go.

When we arrived, I opened the car door and they sprinted to the gate. Once inside, Roxy usually went off and explored. Blitz found his friends to play and Kal-El followed him everywhere. I found a spot to take pictures.

But this day was different. This time, they followed me.

The dog park had been a staple in our lives since Blitz was old enough to go. I wanted a place where he could socialize and run. The park offered that opportunity. And he loved it.

We spent hours there almost every day, usually late in the afternoon after my work was done. Blitz burned off puppy energy. Roxy explored to her heart’s content.

I started bringing my camera. The dogs usually wanted little to do with me there, so I passed the time photographing other dogs while keeping an eye on my own.

When Kal-El came along, he joined in the fun. He was hesitant at first. But once he gained confidence, he followed Blitz everywhere he went. Sometimes just the two of them would play. Other times, they would play with other dogs at the park.

It was the same each time we went, until that September afternoon.

I picked a spot at the far end of the park and sat down in front of a fence. They sat with me—Kal-El about 10 feet to my right, Blitz about 10 feet to my left and Roxy about 10 feet in front of me.

I encouraged them to go play. They stayed.

A few minutes later, a curious collie approached. People didn’t usually sit on the ground at the dog park. I liked the low angle for photos. Since I was on the ground, dogs approached me all the time.

I saw the collie coming and lifted my camera. As I watched it through the viewfinder, it turned its head with a wide-eyed look. Suddenly, I saw Roxy come flying into the frame to chase the collie away. That was completely new behavior for Roxy. She never engaged the other dogs that way.

There was no fighting. The new dog did everything it could to signal that it was friendly. Everything except go away. It really wanted to play.

It was time for the big gun.

Blitz strolled over. The “wolf” dog’s ears went back in a submissive gesture. It was as big as Blitz, but it just wanted to play.

I understood. Three dogs becoming territorial at the dog park—where nothing belonged to anyone—had trouble written all over it.

We left that day and did not return for years.

We never had another day like that.

Sure, Blitz always encouraged others to keep their distance from me. But they never organized themselves into a security detail.

Pack activities changed after that day. They still met and played with other dogs, but always in a controlled environment—our yard, the other dogs’ yards, a place where there would be no surprises.

We still had adventures—trips to a secluded spot in a state park where they would swim and explore. But they were closely supervised and the dogs never outnumbered the people.

I enjoyed that the dogs wanted to keep me safe. But it was my job to keep them safe as well.

This story is one of those that matter—the lessons from The Great Dog Pack that reflect what the Alex Lebovic Foundation carries forward.

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