One of my regular worksites is a gully forest with a football field at the top.
There is a one-legged woman who lives nearby, who owns half a dozen large dogs. Every day, she drives to the park at 10am, and releases the dogs from the back of her ute.
The dogs are good-natured but completely uncontrolled. Every time we are there, our morning smoko features the sight of her charging around the football field on her crutches, screaming “Trixie!” at the top of her lungs as the dogs gleefully race to the four corners of the park. 
