Area avoided often

I'm participating again in River's Sunday Selections event that invites bloggers everywhere to post up photos they haven't yet published, consider linking them with a theme and write something about them.

...this will help me get over the fact that Love Chunks, Sapphire and myself had a bog-ordinary Burger King meal at a roadside stop near Rolle, Switzerland that cost us Seventy Seven Francs.  That's fancy eatin' money!

On with the meme.

A bit after 8:00am on weekdays and weekends, Milly and I trot happily over to Parc de Trembley to stretch our collective total of six legs.  All furry, if I'm to be brutally honest.  It's a slab of land with a busy street that carves it into two segments, one considerably larger than the other.

We owe a lot to this humble park as it allows Milly to run free and keep her post-arthritic body in better shape than when she was first diagnosed with two irreparably wonky back legs over six years ago.  A sniff of a squirrel or the opportunity to snuffle around bench seats has resulted in a sleekly fit dog who can jump up into the back of the car with ease when she was completely unable do so in Melbourne.

With a paddling pool, ornate flower beds, ponds, ancient trees and friendly gardeners who know us and greet us, we both feel as though we know this little part of Geneva like the back of our hands/paws.

And yet there is one section that neither of us want to enter.  That's probably a good thing, because the sign outside this section already forbids entry to dogs:

The sign always leaves me feeling slightly offended on Milly's behalf as she should NOT be compared to disgusting urinators, vandals, noise polluters or litterers.

Then again, she's a beautiful and intelligent beast who hasn't shown the slightest interest in venturing into what I can only call - wait for it - brace yourselves - Pedo Playground.....

These creepy 'animals' are presumably meant to be cheery creatures intended to invite children to climb on them, play on them and generally enjoy themselves, but I have never ever seen a child - or adult - in there.  It seemed long past time to break the rules stipulated by the sign and have a whizz, sorry, take Milly in for a closer look.  She'd protect me if she had to, I'm sure.....

With a shaking dog so close to my legs that we tripped up several times, we tentatively approached this yellow abomination; a filthy chunk of butter with a tangible sense of unwholesomeness about it.  Made by a angry person with an old box and no artistic skills or is there a more sordid meaning behind the nubbin for a tail and the demonic blue ears?

Smile or not, the purple 'up yours' horns did not conjure up any innocent joys of childhood.

And these....?  A creepy looking camel and a half submerged pervy pincered crab? No way!

F-words aren't usually my go-to words, but what the phark is this pink thing??  A par-boiled testicle??





















Milly whined several times as I nervously snapped away.  If this was supposed to be a dog with antennae for ears, porn star breasts for eyes and nose and a distinctly un-PG tongue lolling out lustily, it was a challenge getting her to pose next to 'it'.....

It was a relief for both of us to get the hell out of there.  A-poo-behind-a-bush-relief for Milly, and a thank-god-we-have-wine comfort for me.

That is, until the label revealed that it too wasn't offering real comfort....

But dear old LC did.