"what happens in the dog park, stays in the dog park"

So my mom got me this car magnet (see title for details)...
Yes, it's funny in that "I laughed in the store, but would never buy it" kind of way, but she was so excited when she handed it to me (and we were standing next to my car), so I really had no choice.  It's now proudly displayed on the top of my trunk (otherwise known as the location visible only to those standing directly over it).  Of course, it's understandable why she bought it for me...
I live in Greenwich, and yes, I'm blonde and drive a range rover and my husband's Don Draper.  Go ahead and be jealous of my life...
Okay, so maybe I'm a fake blonde, my husband's name is Tom not Don, and my car is nine years old and squeaks every time I turn the wheel, but I do live in Greenwich.  I'm on one of those streets without sidewalks and pretty benches donated by the Draper family; the ones where cars are actually parked on the street (gasp!), and there aren't little yellow paper signs sticking out of the beautifully landscaped yards reading "pesticide application performed on "xx" date.  Nope, my street is where all the "help" lives.  The reason I know this is because all of the vehicles are either taxis, pickup trucks, delivery vehicles (including Thai Basil who we order from all the time), or just really shitty.  I have no problem with this at all because it makes my car look relatively cool...until you notice the magnet.  And speaking of the magnet, Greenwich does have a dog park, but it's not as nice as you would expect.  I don't know how many tax dollars are needed for fountains, benches, and hanging baskets, but you would think that Greenwich would have enough money to build a proper dog park instead of fencing in a small square of grass next to a sewage treatment plant.  Yup, not only can you watch your dog and other dogs take big dumps, you can also savor the pleasant summer smell of human feces and the sound of water pumps.  Needless to say, I only go to the dog park when I'm pressed for time and can't take Toast on a proper walk.  And the best place for a walk?  The Mianus river, nestled amidst the mansions and range rovers (usually decorated with the following magnets: "wag more, bark less", "god bless our troops", and those frightening stick figures on the back window that supposedly portray family size and number of golden retrievers).  This place is the best.  Toast can chase chipmunks, swim in the river, meet other dogs, and baffle suburban housewives with her "unique" breeding.   Is she a short-haired pointer?  An australian cattle dog?  A purple spotted french bouvois de provence?  Yes, I reply, definitely the last one...
And what about your dog?  Let me guess, is it one of those hypoallergenic dogs that doesn't shed and has a breed name that ends with "oodle"?  Okay, so maybe they're not all like that.  Actually, the strangest people I've come across are the ones with black labs, camelbacks, and ski poles.  Um, we're in Greenwich; if you throw a stick too hard you'll hit a mansion, and although we're "in the woods" I can faintly smell laundry detergent in the air...I think it's safe to say that during your 3 mile loop you won't die of dehydration or need ski poles to help you climb up that flat trail.