Keys to the kingdom

This morning, in spite of a bone-deep laziness, I took TootSweet to the park.  Once there, we warmed up for a kilometer and trotted a kilometer.  The Tooters behaved like a pro.  I walked toward home, planning maybe to leave the dog and go back to trot a bit more.  When I arrived at the front gate, I reached down to get the keyring attached to the dog's collar hook, only to find that the keys no longer formed a part of our ensemble.  Horrified, back I went to the park.  One of the team trainers offered to walk with me back to Narcissists' Corner, searching along the way.

Nothing.  We asked the other trainers at the Corner, looked on the bulletin board there where lost keys are hung (some had been there for weeks and weeks), but no sign of my keys.  I went home and left the dog--fortunately my husband was still there--and went back to the park to do a last search before calling for reinforcements to change the locks--four of 'em.

While I was searching, my son showed up.  He had finished his morning run, so I introduced him to my trainer.  Rodrigo will soon finish his master's degree and will have time to train again for half-marathons. 

When I told Rodrigo I had lost the keys, he had the gall to laugh.  He said it was just one more adventure of mine at the park.  He seems to think I'm the only person in town for whom the park is actually dangerous.  He may have a point.  Considering the times I've crashed and burned, tripped over my dog, had to fight off yowling beagles, and now this, well, there is a lesson here for us all. 

All I can say is that my knees are still holding up.