4th of July

I didn't get one picture. But you can't really blame me. By the time the 4th rolls around in my neighborhood, it's pretty anti-climactic. We live outside of city limits and apparently that means outside of the realm of all reasonableness when it comes to fireworks. It starts around June 20th, and the sound of explosives can be heard until well into July. Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal if our golden retriever wasn't terrified of loud noises. While we were out of town, we thought it would work to just kennel both dogs inside the house and have a college kid come and let them in and out several times. This way they would be out of the heat and shielded from the noise. No- this is what happened. That was after he flipped his cage and somehow managed to squeeze his large body out the bars. So what we thought we were saving on boarding them has now doubled in repairs.

But it hasn't all been bad. We discovered that we can heavily sedate Hank with a combo of Benadryl and melatonin. Nothing bothers him then. So starting at four o'clock on Independence Day, Keith and the boys began smoke bombs, Black Cats, etc. At one point as I was trying to unpack from vacation I looked out the window and realized both boys were in their skivvies running through clouds of blue smoke. I heard Keith say, "C'mon boys, let's go blow some more stuff up." It was as though he was some sort of patriotic Pied Piper as they stood back and watched cardboard tanks shoot across the sidewalk. When I checked on Hank he just smiled at me. He was pretty drugged. The thought flashed through my mind that my babies were playing with explosives and my canine was stoned. Great. Sometimes I am so thankful for Scout and the amount of calmness/doggy estrogen she provides.