The Wet

Do your running partners ever get on your nerves? For the past 2 mornings Mom and my sister have played out the same drama. Bodie drags us out the front door or away from the car at top speed. Then Mom tells her to go eeeaaasssyyy.
“Dude, chill,” I tell her.
“Gotta poo! Gotta poo!” She chants urgently.
“Can’t you just hold it for 1/4 mile till we get to the trail?” I ask. “Why didn’t you go before we left?!”
“I know exactly where we’re going! Wanna poo riiiight……….HERE!” And then she squats right in the middle of the trail or a neighbor’s yard, as the case may be. And then Mom, who is just as bad at planning ahead realizes that she’s forgotten a bag, and we have to go back, and then SHE gets annoyed. Chicks are so much drama.

This morning the drama played out at The Wetlands that Smell Like a Fart, only the “lands” are mostly gone under all the rain. Now it’s just The Wet, and the geese that are usually chilling on the little islands in the marshes have nowhere to hang out except the trail. Whenever Bodie saw one, she took off after it. “Long-necked, funny-nosed cat!” she mutters over and over as she drags me and Mom along behind her.
“BODIE!” Mom bawled and flailed.
“You know those aren’t cats, right?” I said.
“Long eared, funny-nosed squirrels!” she screamed.
“No, you moron. They’re birds!” Who wants to chase a dumb bird?
“Birds don’t leave turds,” she pointed out, pointing to the green poo castles the size of chihuahua heads. I couldn’t argue with that logic. Geese are mammals for chasing.

Oscar the Pooch16807430_1429385330413808_6750202733481767423_n