KANAB, UT — What was once believed to be the town’s most aggressively featureless dog park has now been revealed as a high-concept minimalist art installation—though local dogs remain divided on the meaning.
For months, visitors to the “Kanab Off-Leash Recreation Area” have scratched their heads (and their dogs’ bellies) over its stark, almost dystopian aesthetic. With not a single tree, bush, bench, or even a water source, the barren, fenced-in plot has been widely regarded as “the most depressing dog park in America.” But in a shocking turn of events, town officials have confirmed that the site was never intended for canine recreation at all.
“It appears there was a bureaucratic error,” said Kanab Parks and Recreation director Chad Loomis, shaking his head at a pile of paperwork. “What we thought was a generous public works grant for a dog park was actually a highly exclusive, multi-year environmental art piece titled An Elegy for the Forgotten Glades by an artist known only as ‘L. Fenrir.’”
The installation, which was meant to be a provocative statement on the desertification of old-growth forests, was mistakenly designated as a dog park when an administrative intern misread a grant proposal’s subtitle: A Place to Run, To Roam, To Reflect. The town moved forward with the construction, unknowingly fulfilling Fenrir’s artistic vision by doing absolutely nothing.
“I mean, it makes sense in retrospect,” said local dog owner Stephanie Caldwell, who has been bringing her Labrador, Buckley, to the space for months. “The lack of shade, the cracked dirt, the sense of existential despair—it really does evoke the slow death of ecosystems. But I just thought the city was cheap.”
While the park’s emptiness may have been a deliberate choice, there are two trashcans standing sentinel at either side of the entrance. “If the intent is to keep it barren, you have to have somewhere to throw every single thing that anyone either accidentally or intentionally leaves,” said local dog walker Steve Patel. “It’s almost as if the trashcans are part of the commentary on how we discard the very things we take for granted, like public space, or, you know, hope.”
Not all patrons are convinced. “It just looks unfinished,” said one dog, Buddy, a 6-year-old Golden Retriever, via a series of skeptical tail wags. Other dogs, such as Mittens, a highly cultured Bernedoodle, appeared to embrace the piece, pausing in deep thought between aimless loops around the perimeter.
Attempts to reach L. Fenrir for comment have been unsuccessful. Some believe the artist has gone into hiding in protest of their work being “compromised” by accidental public use, in a move reminiscent of Banksy’s more elusive tactics. An anonymous note, found stapled to the fence last week, read simply:
“Minimalism is misunderstood. This isn’t empty—it’s full of absence.”
In response, town officials have promised to clarify the park’s true purpose. But as legal efforts are made to undo the mistake, many locals have come to accept An Elegy for the Forgotten Glades as both an art piece and a tragicomic accident of municipal incompetence.
“I think we should keep it,” said Caldwell, throwing a tennis ball that landed in an unshaded dust patch. “It’s kind of poetic, really. A metaphor for how we bulldoze meaning into things. I mean, if you squint hard enough, it’s like an art installation about the death of nature… with a side of tennis balls.”
Whether the park remains or is rebranded back to its artistic roots, one thing is certain: Kanab’s dogs now have a thought-provoking place to lift their legs.
