My mom, Booker and I head to the dog park. Booker is my dog. He’ll forgive me for using his real name in my blog. At first he is shy and needs to poop. Then he warms up to the other dogs and commits himself to following one old dog around. Booker coats him with drool and occasionally tries to mount him. All seems to be going smoothly.
My mom and I make small talk with all the other doggie parents. One doggie dad is walking around in the dog-park gravel barefoot. I’ve gone barefoot in hostel showers before, so who am I to judge? I’m going to judge. Walking barefoot in urine coated gravel is gross.
I notice another random looking guy with a big camera around his neck. He points at Booker and asks,
“Is he yours?”
“Thanks, which one is yours.”
“Oh I don’t have a dog. I just like coming to see them.”
My mom turns to me,
“He’s like a pedophile at a playground.”