Had a scare with my cat, Samson. So glad it was just a scare. The cub must’ve eaten something that didn’t sit well with him while milling around outside. Brian and I stuck around the house to observe him Saturday evening. We would have gone to my 10 year high school reunion that night, but I just didn’t feel right getting someone else to keep watch over my sick kitty. Fortunately the reunion had a ‘Part 2′ on Sunday afternoon, a picnic. A total of eight of us attended. Unless you don’t count my two dogs. Then it was just six. Unless you don’t count the one year old who came with her dad. Then it was just five. And Brian didn’t go to my high school, which makes a total of FOUR class members chillin’ under a pavilion on Sunday afternoon. Except one more showed up just as we were leaving.
Now, you might think that this was disappointing to me, but you’d be mistaken. I had spent the better part of that morning in a panic, pouring over my yearbooks like I was studying for a final exam. You see, I have a repressive brain. The second I move on from a phase in life, my brain immediately begins boxing away all my memories and making more room for the present. My worst fear regarding the reunion was hurting anyone’s feelings by not remembering them in the slightest degree. I was sure that such an offense would come off as insensitive and self-interested, when really my brain cells have just slipped out of my head. Well, considering the incredibly low numbers I guess I had nothing to worry about.
Except that for just a little bit I was worried that bringing the hounds might’ve been a bad idea. While enjoying the feel of my old West Virginia back roads, feeling 16 again, I failed to consider that the dogs’ tummies might not agree with the roller coaster ride. So right off the bat I arrived at my 10 year reunion and began cleaning dog puke in my back seat. About four minutes later, I caught an unpleasant, yet familiar, whiff of an odor and realized that Beau had dropped a load right next to the pavilion where we’d all be enjoying each other’s company. (Boy, I’m so glad I curled my hair and shaved my legs for all this fun.) Promptly I poop scooped. And then about 3 minutes after that, Brian and I helped a friend set up a volleyball net only to hear an incredibly loud chorus from our staked dogs.
Dogs howling at the top of their lungs, “Mommy! Why are you all the way over there?! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommmmmmmy! MOMMMMMY! SAVE US! We’re separated! WHATEVER WILL WE DOOOOOO?! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Where did you go, Mommy!? Did the porta potty eat you? Mommy! Mommy! MOMMMMMMMMY!”
Or at least, that’s what it sounded like to me. WhatEV. I love my dogs.