Sunday Night on Clover Road

It was a very relaxing Sunday: lots of reading done after church, polish sausage on the grill for dinner, and s'mores on the fire in the back yard. The local grocery had a s'mores display with bags of Giant Roasters, which turn out to be marshmallows the size of baseballs.   

 

As a long time participant in marshmallow fights (they make a satisfying plop when they hit someone, say, Matt, in the arm), I would have to say that these look like they may have become too lethal. 

Of course, we gave one to Whimzy, because what could be better for a growing puppy then a pound of sugar?   

 

We got a nice fire going. Dave and Rich would have been proud of me. I think we burnt some leaves on the maple overhead. That's always the sign of a good Lighthall - Robinson campfire.  And everybody smells like smoke, which Mary would say is always the sign of it's time to stop camping. Permanently.   

When the fire gets going, Whimzy hides behind the deck chairs. I suppose a healthy fear of fires is a good thing for a dog. When Mike and Nate were little and just walking, they would stagger around the campfire like drunken sailors (sorry, Dad) until someone got too worried they were going to fall in.   

By the way, today was Graduate Sunday at church, where high school and college graduates were recognized. We called to put Whimzy in the group, but she was turned down. Here's a picture of her at her graduation ceremony at puppy school. She didn't get a gown, but there was a cap that she refused to let the instructor put on her head. This is as close as she could get.  She had passed Intermediate II class, which is for dogs who passed Intermediate I, but still wouldn't come when called. Now she comes about half the time. By Intermediate VII, she should come about 99% of the time if the progression keeps up. I have my doubts. There's only so much chicken in the world.   

 

Hope your Sunday went well, too. We missed you all and wish you could have been here.