Lost with the dogs, help from a family

Cheese tortelloni with pesto, beans with butter and almonds, choco pie, water, all at Marsha's.

We're out somewhere with Marsha, maybe at her new house or something. It's out in a neighborhood I don't know, and I'm uncertain how the layout is. I end up walking with PeeWee and Guido, and sometimes it seems like they're not on a leash. It's a slightly older neighborhood, probably built in the 50's or 60's, like the area around Louisiana and Comanche, for instance. Suburban, probably working class that calls itself middle class, an RV here and there, the porches are cracking, the lawns are dry.

I'm pretty sure that if I head down this way I'll be able to turn right and get back to the larger road, which I'm certain will take me back to Marsha's place, but I keep going and I'm not finding the right turn I'm hoping for, in fact I feel like I'm probably getting forced further and further away from where I really want to go. At some point, I'm just thoroughly lost.

I run into a couple in their yard. They're older than me, probably in their fifties. I try to explain my situation without sounding totally freaked out. But I hate hate hate being lost, and I'm feeling kind of flipped out about it. He seems stern and reserved, but she is extremely friendly. They'll help me get back where I'm going, not to worry for a moment. First of all, she brings me this huge, complicated double leash contraption. We get it on the dogs, all harnessed in with a sort of bar up at my end to control the two sides. Man, they can really pull and go crazy when they want to.

Before I know it, I'm standing at a dog sled. The man has taken the time to pile it with dirt from his yard, ballast from his yard, so it won't turn over. The dogs are flipping out, they won't have any problem pulling this. He climbs up on the front of the sled, looking me in the eye, and we slowly sort of rock back and forth (more, front to back), somehow making sure that it is all secure. His wife comes over and scolds him, because there's some dog crap in the dirt he shoveled up there. I don't care, as long as I can get home. He picks the dog crap out and tosses it aside. They've saved me.

[I'm pretty sure this is about my mental process toward petitioning Sandia Mt. 72.]