CITY SMART: How to thrive in the urban environment of Southern California. : Going to the Dogs : Canine owners praise Laurel Canyon Park, where their pets can frolic off-leash while human companions share shaggy dog stories.

I admit it, I’m a cat person.

But after spending an afternoon in the biggest leash-free dog park in Los Angeles County, I decided that my two overstuffed felines lack a certain pizazz.

Compared to Bula the poodle, who spent a turbocharged hour wheeling from human to dog to tennis ball in a frenzy of play, my cats are practically comatose.

And much as I try to come up with adorable cat stories--did I tell you about the time Malish locked himself in the closet?--I really can’t compete with yarn-spinning canine owners.

“Every dog owner here thinks their dog is brilliant,” says Allan Moyle, the proud owner of Bula.

Moyle’s right. Strike up a conversation with just about anyone in Laurel Canyon Park and you’re likely to hear a tumble of amazing pet stories.

Dog owners, it seems, are like first-time grandmothers. Finding it dull to beam in private, they abandon all modesty and gleefully brag. For example: Spuds, a pointer with a jaunty brown patch over one eye, “can out-endure any of the dogs here,” says his owner, Gary Horne. And Soldier Girl--a spunky mixture of black Lab, dachshund and German shepherd--is “one of the fastest dogs here,” says her water-bearer, Lisa Ontiveros.

Then there’s Scarlett. She’s not just another run-of-the-mill Rottweiler--not according to her best buddy, Mark Hannan. “She’s an exceptionally large, beautiful baby,” Hannan says, bending down to scratch Scarlett’s ears.

That kind of gooey dog talk rings through Laurel Canyon Park, which is open every day for off-leash play from 6 to 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. to dusk. Owners do take their responsibilities seriously, using the pooper scoopers posted at every trash barrel to keep the park clean. But they can’t resist talking to, or about, their puppies in that cuddly, coddling tone that any new parent would instantly recognize.

United by a common love, dog owners swap stories about flea infestations and trade advice about training schools. The park swings with an easy camaraderie.

“I invite anyone who thinks this city cannot work to come out here and see the park,” said Mark Russell, who helped found the Laurel Canyon dog haven more than a decade ago.

Los Angeles operates just two other dog parks: one in Silver Lake (which was created on a one-year trial basis over neighborhood opposition) and one in the Sepulveda Basin.

Dog owners, of course, wish they had access to more off-leash parks. Their foes complain that every scarce patch of greenery in Los Angeles should be devoted to people, not dogs.

While the argument rages, folks such as Neil Kaplan continue to trek over to Laurel Canyon Park nearly every afternoon.

Kaplan doesn’t really have much choice. Every day at 2:30--a half-hour before the park opens for leash-free romping--his roommate’s dog, Tremor, storms through the house and drags him to the front door.

Kaplan can understand the dog’s motivation. He likes the park so much that he sometimes stops by even without Tremor--just to play with the other dogs.

“It’s nice to come here to relax,” Kaplan says, kicking back on a grassy slope as a Rottweiler named Venus begs for a game of catch.

Occasionally, the park’s two-legged visitors must break up fur-flying fights. But most dogs are so intent on having fun that they turn up their ever-sniffing noses at turf wars.

Unleashed, the dogs become more playful and less aggressive, owners say. They share toys and water bowls, yip and yap at one another, and trot up to receive admiration--and a quick back rub--from every human in sight.

“It’s so much fun seeing all the different personalities the dogs have,” Yvonne Winter said.

Winter’s own adorable charge, a black-and-white cocker spaniel named Rugby, prefers to explore the park on his own, snuffling along the ground and ignoring fellow mutts. Even when Winter urges him, “Go play! Go play!,” Rugby simply toddles over to a muddy pool and ecstatically breathes in the smell.

In contrast, Omega, a 7-year-old Husky with a thing for Nerf footballs, likes to mix it up with other dogs.

Meg Register picked out the husky’s name when her astrologer noticed an upside-down horseshoe shape--an omega--traced out in fur on the dog’s silver and brown forehead. “It was either that or Panda, and I decided Panda was too cutesy,” Register said.

The name Omega may sound more dignified, but Register has decided that it doesn’t quite capture her dog’s marvelous qualities.

So nowadays, when she introduces the Husky, she presents him as “Omega the Angel Dog.”

At Laurel Canyon Park, such hyperbole does not sound like boasting. In fact, it fits right in.