Pickle

Say hello to our little friend. We met Pickle on the Durango-Silverton Railroad. Let me just say that when we boarded the train, there were three kids obnoxiously yelling, fidgeting, and shenanigan-ing. I kind of wished we were in another car. They were right in front of us. Bleh…
But then the train departed; I have no idea what happened one of the kids, one kept fidgeting, and the third kid sat right in front of us MESMERIZED. It was a complete transformation. He loved this train. And we hadn’t even left the town and gotten into cool mountains and rivers and cliffs. Somewhere around 45 minutes into the ride, he turned around, giggled at my mom and stuck his hands out like this…

My mom couldn’t figure out what to do, and then out of nowhere, he shouted ‘Cut the pickle!’ Eh? Come again? ‘Cut the pickle!’ So finally mom cuts ‘the pickle’ aka his hands with her hand, and he screams ‘Tickle tickle tickle!!!’ as he attacks her, trying to tickle her. We were all cracking up, so he kept doing it. You know how that goes, a kid knows he’s got you, and he does the same thing about a hundred times. But, really, it didn’t get old. So much so, that I’m smiling just thinking about it. I didn’t like kids when the train was at the station, but after meeting pickle, I was in love. Oh, I do miss my pickle.