Prose version:

I was on my way home from the park, still in the park actually, but on the borders of it, almost out, when I saw a white dog digging in the trash for scraps. It looked like someone had taken the trash bin and turned it upside down to empty all its contents on the ground. Or maybe the dog did it. But I doubted that because the trash bins in the park were usually kept inside of a metal container. Come to think of it, that container was usually locked. So maybe the maintenance man had made a mistake by forgetting to lock the container.

Anyway, so this white dog is digging in the trash strewn on the ground. And I already knew there was trouble coming, because it was a very pretty dog with a collar, which led me to believe that the dog had an owner. And that owner was likely close by. After all, we were in a park where people often come with their dogs. So I figured I must have caught this scene in the small amount of time between when a dog gets out of sight from its owner and before the owner realizes.

And sure enough, I heard a voice from the other side of the tall bushes shout, “Winter!” And see, this is where I had to laugh to myself. Because if it had been any other dog’s name, then I couldn’t have known for sure. If it was Milo, or Buddy, or some other generic dog name, then I couldn’t have known that this voice was coming for this dog’s owner. But there was no mistaking, putting two facts together—this dog was lost and it’s owner would probably be calling, and it’s fur coat was white as winter—that this owner shouting their dog’s name from the other side of the tall bushes was the owner of this white dog digging in the trash.

And that’s when I left. I realized I had been standing there just watching the dog dig in the trash. And I don’t like drama. So I didn’t want to be there when the owner found their dog. So I started walked away as fast as I could. And by the time I was out of sight but still just barely within earshot, I head the same owner’s voice shout, “Get out of there!”

Poetry version:

At the park

I walk past

A white dog

Digging in the trash

For scraps

And already know

There’s trouble coming

Before I hear

From a ways off

The dog’s owner,

I’m supposing,

Shout, “Winter!”

As the dog proceeds

To lick a paper plate

That once held pizza

I walk by

Leaving the scene behind

But not before hearing

The owner come closer

And exclaim,

“Get out of there!”