An Afternoon at Grandpa Roger's

So, we arrive at Roger's about 90 minutes after the wild-wild-west event begins. We park next to the house and leave the dogs in the car for a few minutes so that I can install Roger's uncooked pizza rolls from the Plymouth Picnic Basket directly into his refridgerator.

We stand outside the car, discussing what to do with the dogs.

Andrew says, "We should put leashes on the dogs."

I say, "I don't think that's necessary. It's a big property and there are lots of people and dogs running around. They don't need leashes."

So we walk up the hill to Grandpa's western town, and we're just in time for the pre-meal prayer.

Next, we stand near the crowd and bow our heads, and soon I hear Grandpa (who is quite near us) grumbling about something, trying to keep himself quiet during the prayer. I glance over at him. And he's pointing at MY dog (Johan), who has decided walk right over to the fencepost and pee on all the western clothes that Dave & Ada's descendants have bought, assembled and sewn for this wild-wild-west day occasion.

Then, with the prayer finished, the family members (of which there are many) begin to file into the dining lodge building (not sure what its official name is). And all of the sudden, our dogs are gone. GONE. Can't find 'em. Where'd they go? So I take a wild guess and saunter casually into the dining shack. There they are, following the numerous children through the buffet line.

Andrew and I grab the dogs and helpfully remove the them from the dining shack. Begrudgingly, they allow themselves to be dragged to the outdoors. The dogs are smacking their lips and each has an exceedingly triumphant look on his face.

Our goal becomes to keep the dogs from the dining lodge building, and those dogs aren't too pleased about that. So they promptly tell me exactly what they think about being dragged from that food by taking big huge dumps right next to where everyone is eating.

I begin shamefully walking down to the car, where we have some plastic bags for just such an occasion. Cubby decides to accompany me. I think, "How sweet, Cubby just loves me so much and wants to go wherever I go...he is such a sweet dog."

As we're walking down the hill next to the livestock corral, we hear a strange (and very loud) sound.

"Baaaaaaaah."

Cubby turns his head toward the livestock corral in slow motion and sees a herd of goats standing at the fence. Cubby's eyes come to life. His tongue immediately sticks out of his mouth, and then he looks up at me, as if to say, "Please, can I have those goats?"

I say, "Cubby, NO, you may not have the goats." He pretty much gives me the bird at that point, because he knows he's not on a leash and he knows I can't restrain him.

Cubby saunters slowly and bravely toward the electric fence, his head low to the ground, sniffing frantically. The goats are unphased. There is a fat black ringleader goat at the front of the pack, looking at Cubby with an attitude that says, "Bring it on, dog."

I'm screaming "Cubby, NO! NO! Bad dog! NO!" but he completely ignores me.

With that, Cubby explodes through the wires of the electric fence, not caring that his entire body is being shocked by God knows how many volts of electricity.

The goats move. The goats move fast. In fact, it is a stampede, with the black goat in front leading the pack, the other wimpier goats chasing the black goat, and Cubby chasing the whole pack. I feel huge gusts of wind as the animal train flies by again and again.

After many ridiculously speedy laps around the corral, the goats grow smart. They split up. The wimpy goats go one way, and the black goat goes another way. The next time Cubby flies into my sight, it's just him and the brave black goat.

Cubby finally catches up to the brave black goat. They are moving slower now, tired and sleepy after their marathon.

Cubby attempts to mount the brave black goat. He succeeds for about 2 seconds. The goat breaks free and runs faster than I've ever seen any animal run.

I shout for Cubby in my meanest voice to get out of that goat corral.

I'm not sure why Cubby chooses to listen this time, but he does. He electrocutes himself again coming through the fance, and then prances down the hill with me to get that plastic bag, as if nothing ever happened...