Musgrave Park

The first thing is the size. It keeps going — a lap takes about half an hour, and you can be well into it before you have seen another person. You end up walking further than you meant to, most times you come.

It runs a few degrees cooler under the trees than the street outside, which in February you feel the moment you walk in. The shade holds for most of the route, so the middle of the day is usable here in a way it is not in most parks on the coast.

There is agility equipment scattered through it and water stations with bowls at intervals, so the dogs sort themselves out while you keep moving. Nobody has to stand around supervising.

Late afternoon is when it comes alive. Around four the small dogs arrive, and there is a loose recurring gathering of them near the middle that regulars plan their day around. People stand in a rough circle, half-watching, talking the way people do when nobody has to hold eye contact.

There are ponds at the bottom end, and after rain a certain kind of dog will find the mud inside ninety seconds. Everyone who comes here regularly keeps a towel in the car, and nobody seems annoyed about it.

Not all the boundaries are fenced and the edges run toward streets, so walk the perimeter once yourself before you trust it with a dog that does not recall. It is the one thing about the place that needs thinking about.

The crowd is mixed in a way suburban dog parks usually are not — people off shift at odd hours, students late in the evening, and a steady stream of people who drove over because their apartment has no yard. By the third visit you will recognise dogs before you recognise owners.

In the early morning it is almost empty and the birds are louder than anything else, which is a completely different park to the one at five.