She has Found 3 Dead Park Rats to Date

Now that we're settled into our new home, with the dog playing in the park and savory taco oozings dripping off our chins, we have a dispatch from a Young Urban Dog Owning Couple.

We were playing in the park, playing after dark, feasting our eyes (and our mouths) on the Manhattan skyline as our dog played at our feet, when our dog ceased to play at our feet and commenced to play at something horrifyingly smelly's putrid belly. Our dog had gone a-'splorin' and had 'splored a DEAD RAT.
I began to shout (and prance about), if only to scare away the guts of the rat. It didn't work, of course, for shame, and I had to stoop over and shout my dog away from the rat, then take the tiny corner of a bag full of shit (my dog had shat) and clasp the rat's stiff, bumpy, horrid tail in my soft, gentle fingers. Then I had to skip, yell, laugh in a high-pitched way and dodge my doggy's frolicks until I could cast the crisp rat shell with juicy rat filling and shit sauce into a local garbage can.



The next day I rode the train with my usual eager anxiety, relieved by a refreshing sneeze. But what was this? As I politely covered my mouth, the sweet and overpowering stench that made me put my dog and her disgusting rat mouth far away from my affections enveloped my senses like a dog enveloping a dead rat in her disgusting rat mouth do you see where we are headed here??? 

The rat's final juices and just the perkiest tuft of its hair had tagged along on my sleeve and I was bound to wear it for the rest of the ride. Oh doggy, doggy! You are truly an urban pioneer.