The thing about blogging is, it is a responsibility. And the thing about responsibilities is that they are really better handled by adults. And the thing about that is.... (insert blog title here).
I know it's been a while, but I thought I would hop on for a quick visit to tell you about baby dog's first camping trip. So last weekend, le boyfriend had a rugby tournament in Jackson Hole and we had this REALLY brilliant idea. We thought it would be so fun if we took the dogs with us to Jackson and camped all weekend (read, we cant afford a hotel room in Jackson Hole).
So we packed up everything we needed, and then le boyfriend, baby dog, old lady dog and myself hopped in my volkswagon and we were on our way. It was a tight squeeze, but we made it. When baby dog saw a horse, she freaked out and hated it. "Horses cant be trusted." The first time the baby dog saw a moose (well actually 3 moose, a whole moose family) she was like, "Eh, what else is around here?" And that is how we learned that baby dog is a horrible judge of character. We got to camp and started setting up and here is the thing. Le boyfriend and I don't camp on the regular. I mean we can camp, actually if you need testimony to believe my level of skill regarding wilderness survival just ask Meredith and her husband (wilderness survival game, Seattle cabin style). But we don't camp often, so we are not exactly professionals at it. We got to camp late and had to set up everything in the dark, and cook our delicious dinner of frozen hot dogs in a puny ass fire who refused to get bigger. Puny ass fire. And I was the only one in my boy scout troop who could light a one match fire! Yeah, I was in boy scouts. That's another story. Anyways we are scrambling to set up in the cold and dark and old lady dog who has been camping her whole life (we went all the time growing up, but I never had to set up camp, hello I was a kid) sat there and judged us the whole time. I was cursing over the fire, I look over and she is like, "you're doing that wrong." I tell you what, old lady dog is fucking pretentious.
We get in our tent and le boyfriend only bagged mummy bags. Mummy bags! Can you believe that shit!? Here is a fun fact about this guy, I hate mummy bags. A.) I love feeling like I can't move all night B.) that shit is not real fabric. It is like a fake fabric burrito hell. First thing I did as a kid when my family would camp, I would walk in the tent (already set up mind you) and zip my sleeping bag to my mothers. I fucking freeze when I sleep in my bed in my house, so you can imagine the sub zero hell I go through when I am in a tent in the mountains. Also, if I need to pee in the middle of the night, and your sleeping bag is zipped to your moms, you can kick that lady until she wakes up so you don't have to be eaten by some mountainous creature in the dark. Because everyone knows no mountainous creature will eat you in the dark if your mom is around. Mountainous creatures are respectful like that. So I get in my mummy bag, and old lady dog decides she is going to sleep on my shins, completely eliminating my ability to roll over for the rest of the night. Meanwhile, baby dog looks at me and le boyfriend like,
"are you guys shitting me?
I get to sleep in here with you guys?
On your bed?
Is this a joke?
You are joking me aren't you?"
You see, baby dog has her own room at our house, where she happily sleeps in her crate and away from us so her babyness wont bother us and our humaness wont bother her. It's called mutal respect, try that shit. After much cajoling, baby dog finally plopped down to sleep for the night on my face. le boyfriend rolled around all night in his mummy bag feeling the freedom of an entire three fourths of an air mattress, while I layed quietly in one position all night in my fake fabric burrito hell.
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