Timing is Everything...

Because it was going to be really scorching today, I got up early and took the boys down the mountain while things were still relatively cool.

I've been walking in a different part of the park lately, across the river where there are less people, more trees, and I can park the car in the shade.  This area is where the theatre, the art center and the pottery buildings are, as well as a truly large kids' soccer field that is big enough for at least three to four soccer games to play at the same time--which I've seen them do.  There's a path that runs around the whole complex of buildings, fields and along the river.  It's nice, quiet.

Park the Blazer this morning, wander amongst the buildings, skirt the edge of the soccer pitch and head toward the river.  Just before the path turns, there is a beautiful copse of cedar trees.  Old, tall, massive trunks, providing lots of shade, and bordering this grove are several thick, bushy shrubs.  With nary a soul in sight, I let the boys off-leash to run in the mini-forest.  I stop for a moment to run my hand along the bark on the biggest tree, but before I move on, I hear this odd noise coming from one of the bushes.  A really odd noise.

I move away from the tree and edge toward the path while I quickly scan for the dogs, and the source of the peculiar noise.

And damn.  Timing is everything, isn't it?  If I had stuck to my normal schedule, stopped for a coffee, taken a longer shower, had toast instead of cereal...

There's a guy, with his back to me, laying on a sleeping bag with his gear all around him, and believe me, there was no doubt or question about what he was doing.  The panting and groaning and motions told the whole story.  I freeze for a moment in utter disbelief while my mind registers that there's a damned idiot wanker in a public park who has just ruined my day.  Then the dogs come bounding out of the bushes and head straight for the guy, who is so...um...occupied, that he hasn't as yet noticed me.

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and all the frigging camels and sheep.

I back away as quickly as I can, and quietly call the dogs to me, regretting with every step that I've let them off-leash.  They ignore me in their quest to figure out what this strangeness is on the ground, rolling and groaning.  Holy crap.

The minute my feet hit the path, I use The Voice, which stops everything:  The dogs, the perv, the earth's rotation.  I spin on my heels and start walking as fast as I can away from the grove, with the dogs behind me, running to catch up.  As soon as I'm far enough away to feel safe, I leash the dogs and head to the car.

I wasn't scared, just stunned, and pissed.  The guy could have walked down the bank towards the river and no one would have seen him, he could have gone to the Men's restroom, he could have NOT DONE IT AT ALL in a public park.  I sat in the car for a bit, debating about calling the cops, but truly, all I had was the moaning and movements--which was plenty, thank you very much--but I never actually saw his bits.  And he wasn't doing it because of me, he was already into it before I even came along.

But regardless.  Men.  What the hell are they thinking?  Did I have to see that on a nice Summer morning walking my dogs?

Driving home I had a moment where I didn't want to be alone in this.  I imagined telling this tale to my man, seeing the fire of outrage spark in his eye, hear the growl as he asked me where exactly in the park did this happen, before he went charging down the mountain to avenge me.

God.  We're all just so primitive, aren't we?