The Dog Park

Behind the community centre on Maple Ridge Drive, there was an empty lot. For years it had been nothing: grass, a few rocks, a shopping cart that nobody remembered bringing there. Children crossed it on their way to school. Dogs crossed it on their way to everything.

Then, in April, a letter arrived from the city. The neighbourhood could have forty thousand dollars to turn the empty lot into something useful. But only one thing. The community association had to choose, and they had to choose by the end of the month.

Within a week, the neighbourhood had divided into two armies.

The first army wanted a dog park, with a fence, benches, and a water fountain for dogs. Its general was a big man called Brad who owned two huskies and spoke very loudly.

The second army wanted a community garden, with raised beds where families could grow vegetables. Its general was Mrs. Okonjo, a retired chemistry teacher who had grown tomatoes on her balcony for twenty years and believed that every child should know where food comes from.

Joel was not in either army. Joel was a quiet man who worked in a bakery from five in the morning, lived alone with a cat, and was preparing for the CELPIP test in his free time. He went to the meeting only because Mrs. Okonjo lived next door and had asked him to carry two boxes of seedlings.

He planned to sit at the back, say nothing, and go home.