An Ode to Mismanagement and the Death of a Community

I have just come home from my last-ever visit to Bar K Dog Bar, a park that, for almost three years, had become the second home for me, Bear, Sweet Pea, and countless other canines and their humans. Sadly, it wasn’t for one last run through the splash pad, one more Diet Coke in the bar, or even one final game of Singo, which I hosted on Friday evenings. It was to pick up that Singo equipment and take one final look at the closed doors of a place that had come to mean so much to so many.

When Bar K opened in 2023, I was resistant to the idea of paying to go to a park. We were daily visitors to the free local dog park here in Midwest City. But after two shootings in the bigger park area and attacks from the pit bulls owned by local meth-heads visiting the dog park, me and some friends migrated to Bar K

It wasn’t cheap, but it was so worth it. The staff, from managers to dog tenders to bar tenders were amazing. The other humans were, for the most part, friendly and kind. And there were dogs of every breed and size, most of whom were thrilled to get attention from so many humans. Bear and Sweet Pea were in Heaven.

Bear spent a lot of his time sitting beside me or perched atop a picnic table, absorbing all my attention while his very jealous sister played with other dogs. If I didn’t give him enough attention, he would go find someone else to pet him, but position himself where he could watch me and make sure I knew that he could get love from others.

Sweet Pea, who hadn’t been with me all that long when we migrated, totally bonded with me and Bear and became very possessive of her big brother. I’ll never know why it was perfectly acceptable for some dogs to approach Bear while others got chased away, but it was a decision she made. She never hurt another dog. Never bit. She just chased them away. When not being her brother’s keeper, she was a park favorite with her quirky behavior, wanting people to fling water in the air that she would jump after, or “supervising” the cleaning of the wading pools and scrub brushes in hopes the dog tender would spray her with the hose (they always obliged her).

A community was founded in that park. Being centrally located, it attracted people from all over the sprawling Oklahoma City metroplex. At first, we got to know our fellow humans as “Dosha’s mom and dad” or “Lele’s mom.” The dog with the collar that says “Humper” is really Rambo and that red-head is his mom. Spooky’s dad became a good friend. Eventually, first names of humans were learned … but for some reason, last names weren’t asked for most of the time. They weren’t needed. We met up often at the park; sometimes daily. We looked forward to seeing one another and playing with the dogs and complaining about jobs and just enjoying one anothers’ company.

Then the original owners of Bar K sold the company. Why not? It’s the American way, right? Build a successful company, then cash out.

Well, some polling company decided to do a survey to see what was the best dog park in the country. The OKC park rallied and campaigned and Bar K was chosen as America’s #1 dog park. We were proud of our home away from home.

But the end was already in sight.

Dog tenders’ hours were cut so that nearly all of them had to have second jobs. The trivia night I used to host on Thursday’s was canceled. Worse was to come.

The new corporate management started closing the park every Tuesday. At least they offered an excuse: It cost too much to open the park and run the kitchen on the slowest day of the week. The Bar K family adjusted.

Next, the membership fees went up. Not just a little. My membership for two dogs was $325.88 per year. I was lucky because they grandfathered in standing members at the old rates. New members wanting the same benefits I enjoyed were charged a little over $500.

The owners sent an e-mail survey soon after the rate hike and one of the questions asked if we’d recommend the park to friends. I responded by saying no, that my friends wouldn’t or couldn’t pay the new membership fees.

Think of that. Less than a year after their customers rallied and voted Bar K as the best dog park in the United States, the same people were saying they wouldn’t recommend membership to friends.

Then summer came around again. More daylight used to mean longer hours at the park. Not any more. Closed on Tuesday with no extended hours on Friday and Saturday nights. Members were paying considerably more and receiving less.

The next blow was in the kitchen. Menu favorites were cut. Then the entire kitchen staff was fired and replaced with a third-party vendor offering food nobody wanted. The kitchen manager had become a good friend and a popular figure. We bought him a cake and the grown man cried reading the farewell card on his final day. Three years earlier, he had left family to move to OKC specifically to work for Bar K.

It turns out, he was the lucky one. He got advanced warning of his fate. He got to secure employment and health insurance before he was left without any income.

Yesterday, I woke up to my cell phone blaring every notification chime it possesses as people told me that Bar K had suddenly and without any warning closed for good. Everyone was fired. Most of the staff were young and, as I said, already had to have second jobs. But a few were salaried, full-time, with families and adult responsibilities. Their income ended on Monday. Their health insurance ends tomorrow. One is a single mother with two kids she has to get ready for the start of a new school year.

As members, we were also in shock. We were angry that Bar K announced there would be no refunds of our yearly membership fees … not even for the lady who paid $600 to join just three days before the doors were locked. The money was one issue. The loss of community was another.

Those of us who had established contact with a few others were suddenly scrambling. What is Brody’s last name? And Kelly’s? Does anyone have Kenzie on Facebook? Who has Mark’s number? We were a community blown apart. No warning. No announcement that the end would be in X number of days so we could get that info or say good-bye. Just a big giant “Fuck you all” from the corporate owners.

A Google search shows that the owners of Bar K, headquartered in Kansas City, are actually Arizona-based Diversified Partners. So, to you, Diversified Partners, for how you chose to end a business that was so much more than just dollars and dogs, may the dildo of Karma be exceptionally large, sharply barbed, and absolutely unlubricated.