Walk to the Park

Our closest neighborhood park is 1.3 miles from the house, on the other side of a 5-lane avenue that makes us go 4 blocks out of our way to reach a crosswalk. Sometimes after dinner, I’ll load up Felix and the dog and walk over so we can all get a little exercise and fresh air.

After crossing the biggest street, the neighborhood we have to walk through is quite a sight. It’s made of about one-third updated, beautiful old homes, and about two-thirds (what look like) meth labs and random garages with chain-link fenced front yards and “BEWARE OF DOG” signs.

Taken from Google images because I didn't want to pull out my camera!

The typical passerby is a grown man in a dirty tank top riding a boy’s bike, cigarette dangling from one hand. Or someone walking suspiciously slowly down the street, like they’re out of it or up to no good (or both). Then just as I start to think maybe I shouldn’t have walked, I’ll be greeted by a lovely lady working in her perfect garden, wearing a cute coordinated outfit and smiling from ear to ear.

As we move through the neighborhood, we set off all the dogs. Chihuahuas go crazy scraping at the windows to get at us; pit bull types charge their chain link fences with warning barks. And there’s always a little white stubby-legged dog, off-leash, that runs to the sidewalk throwing a massive fit with all his might. But he backs up a little with each bark, so I figure he’s more scared of us than we are of him.

Finally we make it to the next major crossroad, and it’s like another world. There’s a large Mormon church surrounded by a perfectly manicured lawn and cute homes. When we get to the park, it’s full of soccer moms and organized sports and kids playing tag on the playground.

Felix always  has a great time playing on the toys and meeting other kids, but we rarely have more than 15 minutes before we have to head back so we can get home before dark. It's always quite the adventure.