Blessed Be May 2 4 Weekend

Yes, this is our May Long Weekend up here in the Great White North. A weekend dedicated to gardening, camping, campfires, neighbourhood bbq’s, etc. Tis the Queens birthday, and being what we are {and WHERE we are}, May  2 4 is really a celebration of the days getting longer and warmer. Usually though it’s god awful.

We partook of the campfire, bbq and beer with friends last evening. Lovely evening, ringing with laughter and music from the 30GB’s of music. Drinking beer (of course). Children’s laughter ringing through the warm, night air. So the men went out and decided it was time for the fire – out they all trouped.

I decided to go up and get socks on (mosquitos)…when I heard a dog fight. As I’m opening the front door in a panic, up comes the neighbour with Irish hung up like a sack of potatoes, and then she was unceremoniously dumped. Along behind her streamed a gaggle of crying little girls. Even better. And the neighbours foul comment was something along the lines of “keep track of your effen dog, or I’ll shoot her”. Nice. Ah yes, the neighbour. I don’t call it Dodge for nothin ya know. 😉

So after the early fireworks, and talks to the neighbour to calm him down, we settled round the fire and sang songs. The rest of the night was wonderful.

Today for some reason I spent the WHOLE stupid day crying. ALL DAY. My eyes look like pink puff balls. The Pit-viper and I had a bit of a dust-up last night. She said she loved me. I didn’t tell her to go eff herself. I was damn angry, but just really sad and weepy too…and it didn’t have anything to do with her, or what she said.

You see, May 2 4 is also one of the best weekends when I was up at the cottage. Great times, and I miss Tim. We’d have a huge bonfire down by the lake, and the smell and sounds of laughter would ring through and it was like an homage to the lake. As all the summer folk come up that weekend and open up their cottages, the quiet solitude was broken. It gets mighty lonely up there in the winter. As I learned acutely this last winter.

Had never intended to spend the winter, but I did. Now its bitter-sweet. I could go out tonight, over to a neighbours bbq, where the whole gang is. Yet right now is all quiet, and it’s bliss. I just had a bath, I’m in my cozy robe Tim stole from some hotel, and I’m drinking a beer. Sitting out front on the porch with my cigs and feeling the breeze against my skin. It’s sooooo nice to have the place to myself. To be alone. Re-charge my battery a bit.

As a follow-up to last nights festivities, Irish this afternoon decides to get in the garbage. So she spent most of today locked in the room with me. She was grounded. Which is grounding her from the kids, going on the porch, seeing who’s coming in the door. Grounded. I barely made eye contact with her. All she heard from me was nasty angry sounds, and sobbing. Tired of this. Kept wanting to yell at her STOP BEING BAD. Yeah, I know. Not worth the breath, but still. I guess we’re both a work in progress.

Oh, and Irish was also invited to the neighbours party. However, she is NOT going. I don’t have the energy for a BAD dog. OH, well, I have the energy, but not for having patience and not for dogs that decide to beat the living snot out of the neighbours female little toy white thing. Key characteristic there being FEMALE. So we know what THAT fight was about. Irish was giving the old girl a what for and bobs your Uncle these be MY digs now, YOU are retired. It’s BIG GIRL time.

The poor wee neighbours doggy lost a nail. I’m sure she’s traumatized now. The neighbour certainly was. You can see the humour here, I would imagine. I don’t know if the neighbour ever will. But it’s not like this is the first time a dog has beat the living snot out of the old guard, and I would imagine it won’t be the last. There has always been dogs on this property. It’s natural for her to take charge, set the ground rules. But still. Bee-ah-chhh. It’s no wonder she’s taken to sleeping beside my sister’s side of the bed in their room. Irish is sleeping next to the head female of the household, she’s not stupid.

I told Irish originally not to sleep in my room, since those were the rules. Ol’sister changed them. Now she’s allowed upstairs and more or less because she decided one evening she’d spend the night on the carpeted floor, and my sister thought it was sweet. Clever canine. I’m going to perhaps have a word with Irish though concerning the bee-ah-ch thang.

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