Fresh snow covers the land like a pure white duvet. The spruce and cedars are laden with their heavy globs of snow. It’s Family Day tomorrow, so it’s a long weekend and those with cottages have made the trip up to enjoy the fresh air and beautiful scenery. Across the road I can smell a campfire, as I stand at the window with my cylinder of sin.
Across the road I can hear the Hungarians at the Hall. There is a whole clan of them here with cottages. They arrived on these shores I guess in the late 50’s and built many of the early cottages here, including ours. These are the grandchildren and children of those early immigrants. They all originally arrived in that first decade after World War II.
They are from an area that was broken off from Hungry by the Russians in the 20’s – Croatia, Serbia region. I really never knew the story until I met this bunch. I wasn’t paying that much attention I guess that day in History class.
So our buddy D is over with a group of his friends & cousins up from the city. He’s been up almost every weekend so far this winter; he likes to go snowmobiling and just generally get out of the city and unwind. Keeps him sane he says. Now this is more or less a cabin he’s in – no basement and heated by a wood stove.
Anywho, there I am earlier puffing away listening to them cooking up lunch on the campfire over at their Hall. Makes me feel even more alone. They are private this bunch – so no insult intended, but I’m not invited. Strange, but I don’t mind. D pops over once and awhile and we chat, so that’s cool. He misses Tim too.
Believe me, they’re not over there cooking up burgers they bought at Walmart either. No way. These guys eat well, and lots of different types of meat – even Moose I guess. Very food orientated bunch. Smells delicious anyways, whatever they’re brewing up.
It was the aroma of their cooking actually that original drew Irish to us that night in the blizzard 3 years ago. We have since surmised she must have smelt D’s cooking (they were bbqing home-made sausages that night). It was that smell that probably lured her over off the snowmobile trails that circle back around the other side of the lake.
I do have to get my butt in gear and get out into the sunshine, but I felt a kind of homage to the old country ways earlier as I laundered my cloths in the sink. They’re right now drying on this old wooden drying rack that was Grandma D’s. I’ve had to do my laundry in the kitchen as I had no energy to drag it into town. So there I am scrubbin’ and rinsing, and gazing out the kitchen window and spy one lone fool out on the lake ice-fishing. Than later on another pair out poking with sticks to see how thick the ice is.
Cold out today too, brrrrr. Wouldn’t catch me out there on that lake. Nope. No way no how am I going out on that ice. I’ve never seen one Hungarian out there, so I’ll just follow their lead, thank you very much. Not into drowning in an icy cold lake.
Poor Irish must be bored stiff though, a walk is in order today. Driving her crazy not being able to go out and check out everyone. She’s not allowed to just roam around, least not when people are up. Thing is our dear Ms Irish has this wee rather humorously unfortunate thing she likes to do to guests. Not terribly kosher really in mixed company. We refer to it as the Irish Hug.
Which is another way to say she likes to hump people. I don’t have a picture of her doing it, so you will just have to use your imagination on this. D when he comes up goes back to the city and tells everyone a beautiful blond humped him up at the lake.
I’ve researched it and apparently it is supposedly some kind of warped form of dominance. It isn’t sexual either, its just her getting overly-excited (which quite frankly does not take much) and I guess it’s her way of showing “when your happy and you know it, hump a leg”. I am trying to break her of it, but let me tell you it is rather impossible when she gets such a delightful response from those she does it to. Perhaps in the city I’ll have better luck.
She has been known to wield it occasionally to her advantage too, I might add. Case in point – at Christmas my sister was out showing me (a-hem) how to make Irish go pee at 11 o’clock at night when I want to go to bed. This from someone who has never actually owned their own dog; so I was keenly attentive.
Apparently one drags the dog around and around in a circle, than turns and goes the other way, turn around and repeat. After about the 3rd go round Irish decided this was great fun and decided Lulu deserved an ol’humpsy-doodle right there on the side lawn of the Homestead. So she took advantage of Lulu’s turned back, dug in her dew-claws and danced a little jig. Poor Lulu, said she “felt violated”. Bad dog 😆 Bad dog.
Gotta love a lass who’ll let you know how she feels with such passion, eh?