When Dogs Have Parks but People Have Pavement

We live in a world where dogs have parks, but human beings sleep under bridges.
Where pets have climate-controlled homes and fresh water while men and women crouch next to train tracks or curl up in the thickets of city parks, hoping they won’t be harassed or worse before dawn.

And somehow, we accept this as normal.

You can hardly walk through a modern American city without seeing a cheerful, fenced-in dog park — often with astroturf, water fountains, benches, and even “agility equipment.” You’ll also see dogs strolling by in cashmere sweaters and leather leashes, their humans sipping five-dollar coffees and picking up after them with biodegradable bags.

Then, if you let your gaze wander just a little wider — beyond the polite zones — you will find, just out of sight, a man sleeping on cardboard under an overpass. A woman washing her face in a park restroom sink. A young couple in a tent pitched next to the railroad embankment because it is the only place nobody will ticket them or steal what little they have left.

I want you to know: I love dogs.
I have loved dogs my whole life.
Since I was seven years old, when I brought home my very first stray, I’ve been rescuing them. I’ve fed them, walked them, healed them, fought for them. I know their joy, their devotion, their grace. I still stop for strays and still weep over dogs that are abandoned.

But even with my lifelong love of dogs — maybe because of it — I see how wrong this is.

Why is it so much easier to love dogs than to love our fellow human beings?
The answer isn’t comfortable, but it’s worth saying out loud.

Dogs are simple.
They don’t betray.
They don’t lie.
They don’t carry grudges.
They don’t remind us of our own failings.
They don’t reek of bad choices and hard luck and the complicated mess of a human life gone sideways.

Dogs wag their tails and ask nothing but kindness.
Humans — oh, humans ask more than kindness.
They ask us to see them. To feel their pain. To untangle their stories and wrestle with our own complicity in their suffering.
It is easier to love a dog who greets you with joy than a man who greets you with a vacant stare and a cardboard sign.
But “easier” does not mean better.

We justify dog parks because they’re “good for the community,” “keep dogs exercised,” “build connection.”
Fair enough — dogs need space to run, and people like having a place to gather with their animals.
But dogs can also walk just about anywhere with their owners.
Humans, on the other hand — our fellow citizens, our neighbors, our brothers and sisters — often have nowhere to go at all.

We’ve built little green sanctuaries for pets while telling people to keep moving, keep out of sight, keep quiet.
We’ve fenced in fields for Labradors to play but fenced out human beings from resting on a bench for too long.
We’ll supply bags for dog waste but not showers for human dignity.

Isn’t there something upside-down about this?

We’re not being asked to hate dogs — dogs are not the problem — but to wonder how our cities can spare the budget and the land and the care for animals while refusing to provide even the bare minimum for people.

Where is the fenced-in field where a homeless man can lie down and not be told to move?
Where is the clean water fountain that doesn’t get shut off “to deter vagrants”?
Where is the simple shelter from rain, snow, and sun where a woman can bathe and rest without fear?

We ought to ask these questions — loudly, persistently, uncomfortably.
We ought to hold our city leaders and ourselves to account.

Because a society that treats its pets better than its people is a society that has forgotten its soul.

If you want to take a few next steps:

• Attend your city council meetings and bring this contradiction up.

• Research what local shelters, faith communities, or advocacy groups are trying to create hygiene stations, safe camping areas, or tiny home villages — and support them.

• Advocate for ordinances that protect the right to sit, sleep, and exist in public without harassment.

• Encourage the use of public funds for both pet-friendly spaces and humane, dignified human spaces — these don’t have to be mutually exclusive.