New Hampshire, circa 1995: we were midway through our annual summer pilgrimage to Camp Calumet Lutheran on Lake Ossippee, when my dad got in the family minivan and started driving towards the main road.
I don’t remember where he was going (likely to replenish our s’mores supplies) but that’s not important. What’s important is that we always traveled with our two family dogs and one of the two dogs, Oly, who was actually half wolf, loved the family minivan. As such, we always left the doors to the van open when it was parked on our campsite and tied the dogs to it so Oly could go in and out whenever she/he pleased. (Given the variety of pronouns my parents have used when referring to Oly over the years, my only guess is that the dog was transgender and very progressive.)
At any rate, my dad hopped into the van and started driving down the road not realizing that the dogs, including Oly, were still attached.
(Can you see where this is going?)
Luckily the speed limit at Camp Calumet Lutheran is a whopping 5 miles per hour so the dogs just managed to trot alongside the van until my dad finally heard us yelling, “Stop! Stops! Oly is tied to the van!!!”
Moral of the Story? There are just too many.