The Park That Went To The Dogs

I have cousin in Toronto who walks dogs. She used to be a cowgirl and an alligator wrestler, but she decided to go for the glamour of four-legged animals of all sizes running circles around her and trying to strangle, trip and cocoon her with leashes. Now, she gets to wear special throw-away gloves that turn into bags for those special occasions when her canine cuties spew poop pies.

She walks the dogs in a park that’s literally gone to the dogs, a place where the dogs can run unleashed and free as any majestic animal limited only by the boundaries of a park that’s literally gone to the dogs.

In this picture a woman who is not Kate Moss walks several dogs, none of whom is Rin Tin Tin or Lassie.

In this picture, my cousin, Daisy, has temporarily had her head bitten off by a rather large dog with a zany sense of humor.

In this picture, several former cowboys, cowgirls and alligator wrestlers turned dog walkers discuss the absence of Daisy’s head and begin to formulate a plan.

Just as everybody was about to give up, a one-time mongoose wrestler turned dog walker watcher showed up and said: “Daisy, your head wasn’t bitten off. It’s still on your shoulders. That crazy Biff just aimed the camera too low.” Here he is, looking at me in a very stern but benign manner.

And here’s cousin Daisy, leaving the park that’s gone to the dogs, head intact, and brain pondering: “Is the one pooping on the grass one of mine … or just an optical illusion from Biff’s camera?”