Hatch slams shut. "C'mon Izzie, this way."
Black SUV beeps twice, locked.
A couple off to our left, "They'll so ticket that black SUV parked up on the grass if they come by."
Black SUV beeps twice more -- a touch of OCD, still locked.
"This way Izzie. Let's go."
Birds squawk from deep within the underbrush as dogs pass by below.
"Will you grab a couple poop bags?"
"Didn't she poop already this morning?"
"Yes. But she'll probably go again."
"OK."
Rubber flip-flops scuffle down a gravel pathway.
"There she goes."
Laughter from up ahead, near the waters edge.
"Wait for it..."
Crashing sound of Izzie's head-on collision with water.
More laughter ahead.
Piercing squeal of Izzie's squeaky ball in Julie's hand.
Two note whistle from "Three Amigos."
"C'mon Izzie. This way."
Slaps of wet paws on dirt and the rustle of parting branches as she darts toward us.
"Good Girl."
"Let's take her that way. By the big steps."
"Yeah, we can throw her ball with her there."
Birds squawk. Dogs bark. Feet scuffle.
Izzie dashes back and forth, skidding across the gravel pathway with each change in direction.
Rustle of branches again as she disappears into the brush.
Yapping from a smaller dog that chases her back out onto the pathway.
"Did you find a friend, Izzie?"
"Careful Izzie... Play nice."
Clap of flip-flops stepping down a stony stairway.
"Ready Izzie?"
Silence, the sound of anticipation.
"Go get it!"
A plunk ten yards out from the steps as the ball lands in the water.
Scratching of paws and nails on stone, from left to right.
A moment of quiet.
And then the splash of dog entering water.
"Go get your ball!"
"Good girl."
"Now bring it back..."
"No... Izzie... Your ball... Go get it... Bring it back..."
"That's a good girl."
"Uh oh. She's headed for the point."
Piercing squeal of Izzie's squeaky ball in Julie's hand.
Two notes from the "Three Amigos" whistle.
The squeaky ball again.
The other two notes from the "Three Amigos."
"Izzie!"
A woman up ahead, "Grab your dogs everyone. We've got a wild one!"
"Izzie come!"
A wife, under her breath to her husband, "Keep your eye on that one. It's out of control."
"Got ya, Izzie!"
"C'mon, let's go. Go get Mama!"
Scuffle of rubber flip-flops back down the gravel pathway.
"Man... it never fails. The snooty bitches are always out at the point."
"Seriously, if you can't handle your little rat playing with big dogs, don't bring it to the dog park."
More scuffle of flip-flops.
The occasional crash of Izzie in the water nearby.
"C'mon Izzie. This way."
"Let's go bye bye."
"You have once again... Been voted off the island."
"Time to go home."
We laugh. Izzie prances beside us, tongue dangling to the side of her mouth.
"That's a good girl, Izzie."
