It was 1996.  My parents had come to visit BrightSide and me during our two-year stint in St. Louis, a stay that was remarkably memorable thanks to our first dog Heidi.  (You can read about that heart stopping, jaw dropping moment here.)

Heidi was wicked smart and sweet as could be, despite the antics described in that oh, $#@! post. BrightSide and I weren’t even married six months before we found her at the pound, and she quickly wiggled her way into our hearts.

She was our first fur baby.

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The weather must have been fairly nice that day because BrightSide and my dad had gone golfing, and I was looking for something my mom and I could do.  That’s when inspiration struck:  we should take Heidi to the park.

This probably sounds like a perfectly plausible idea.  Get outside, enjoy the sunshine, show my mom the park, give the dog some exercise…all excellent reasons for the three of us to pack up and head out.  Except, if you knew me in 1996, you know what kind of car I was driving.

Let me preface this with the fact that I’m about the farthest thing you’ll find from a car fanatic. I can’t name the makes and models of cars we see when we’re out and about.  The years I spent hearing “What kind of car is THAT?” from the back seat were torture.  I have a hard time even remembering what year my current car was made.

And what you’re about to read will fly in the face of all of that.

I graduated college with a few things in my favor, one of which was an excellent credit rating. (Geeky, I know, but I was into paying my bills.)  I was footloose and fancy free when I decided to buy my first car – not yet married, no kids, no dogs, no obligations except taking care of myself and teaching my class – so for the first time in my life I made a major purchase based solely on desire.

So what did I want?  A shiny red Miata convertible.  Oh, I loved that car!  I loved how it fit me (a lot like Goldilocks and the chairs, not too big and not too small) – everything was right at my fingertips.  I loved the zoom zoom (yep, it’s more than a marketing slogan, it’s a real thing) and the way it handled on the road.  I loved putting the top down on warm summer nights, on pretty mornings, on sunny afternoons…basically whenever possible.  I. Loved. That. Car.

So, back to the park idea.  My beautiful Miata was super fun, super fast, super pretty – and a two-seater.  As in no back seat and a very small trunk to boot (not that a bigger trunk would have been helpful in this situation).  But my mind was set.  Heidi, mom, and I would get to that park to enjoy our day come hell or high water.

Which is how my mom found herself part of our Ringling Brothers sideshow.  There was an extremely narrow space behind the seats, basically a shelf where the collapsible top met the car’s frame.  I wedged Heidi’s 60 pound body in until she was smushed against the back window, then I helped my mom settle into the passenger seat.  I managed to squeeze in behind the wheel and we were off to the races.

I can only imagine what we must have looked like on the interstate – two crazy ladies with an enormous furry dog filling the back window of our tiny car.  I remember looking at mom halfway there and busting out laughing when the insanity of what we were doing hit me.  Mom never batted an eye, though.  We’re driving to the park with an enormous dog looming over our shoulders?  Sure!  Sounds fun!  Great idea!

Good times.