Just Another Day at the Park

Yesterday, I went over to my mom's house, and since it was sunny and nice out, we decided it would be fun to go to the park down the street. So off we went, my mom, Sahara, my little sister, and me.

We walked around for a bit, and played on the play equipment, and then started to make our way back to the car.

I was trying to squeeze the giant stroller in the back of our tiny, full-of-junk trunk, which is not the easiest thing in the world to do, so my mom rushed over to help me.

After we had managed to get it in, my mom looked down at her hand. "What is this?" she asked me, looking at this streak of something that we both unfortunately knew what it was. She gingerly lifted her hand to smell, and by the look of horror on her face, it confirmed what we both had suspected.

"You don't want that in your car," she gagged, pointing to the stroller.

We lifted it back out of the car, and inspected every wheel, until we found the culprit. "I'll get the wipies."

After scrubbing the wheel, my mom's hand, and the jacket that was now going to be thrown away, all the while listening to my mom mutter something under her breath about people not picking up after their dogs, my mom grabbed the handful of wipes and told me to pick her up by the trash can. So, we drove over to the trash and waited for her.

As she came towards the car, a tiny Chihuahua came out of the bushes with no leash or owner.

"You know we have to rescue this dog?" I told her.
"What?" The tone of her voice was all too clear she wanted to just go home and shower. But, when I offered to get the dog, she clenched her teeth and turned toward it. "Come here, puppy." The dog growled and began barking. Obviously, he didn't think he needed the rescuing.

But, with one more glance back to me, my mom started towards the annoying dog. "I can't believe this...I have poop on my pants!" She yelled. At this point, I had lost it.

So, we followed my mom in the car, and my mom followed the tiny dog, who as soon as my mom began going towards him, he began his trek home.

Apparently, the dog lives right around the corner and down the street. "Go up to the door and make sure it's their dog," I yelled to my mom from the car.

This was not going to happen by the look of her face and the vehemently shaking of her head. She came back and got in the car.

"It's his house, believe me, it's his house. He went ballistic as soon as I got anywhere near the driveway," she told me.

And, so we were off, me feeling rather good about our rescue, and my mother staring at the poop marks on her pants.