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Weekend Gotaway – How Long is this Weekend, Anyway? – Chapter 3

If you are beginning to wonder if my posts about last weekend will never end, then you are finally on the road to understanding the unusual time-sucking Black Hole that the Firepants Family endures on a daily basis.  Wonderbutt will be more than happy to lead you down that merry path.

Follow me to the time-sucking Black Hole at the end of this dirt road.

After my first sleepless night at The Ranch, I smothered myself with a pillow the next morning while the rest of the The Ranch visitors carried on with life, completely oblivious to the fact that I had spent my evening cleaning up cat vomit and trying to keep Wonderbutt from dismembering the vomiter.

I finally entered the kitchen around 9:30, only to find most of the household gone.  They had taken the four dogs for a jaunt.

Moments into my breakfast, the crew returned.  Dimples, my fully dressed daughter, was wet.  It was not raining.

“I had to save Wonderbutt from drowning,” she proudly announced.  “I think I need a shower.”

You may not remember this, but we tested the whole, “Are Bulldogs Buoyant?” question last year around this time, when Wonderbutt decided to take a plunge into the pond at The Ranch once he saw that everyone else was doing it.  Wonderbutt may be stubborn, but he apparently caves to canine peer pressure quite easily.

Wonderbutt proved that yes, bulldogs can swim, at least when they weigh 15 pounds less than he does now.  I’m not sure where the fine line is, but it seems he crossed over it, because this year he couldn’t keep his head above the water.  Fortunately the water was only about 3 feet deep, so Dimples waded out to save him.

Wonderbutt does not feel guilt or shame – or humiliation.  He did not seem to be embarrassed one bit that he was the only dog out of four that had to be carried back to land by a 9 year old girl who weighs less than he does.  To be fair, the other three dogs were a bit too tired from the whole experience to taunt him very much.

I must admit that the thought did cross my mind, for one very brief moment, that, if he had drowned, I might actually sleep that night.  But I can feel guilt, and immediately banished that thought from my head.  It was then followed by the tempting thought of drowning the cat, instead.  But, I did not want The Dictator to impale me on her Wall of Death, so I did not voice this thought, much less act on it.

Instead, I went outside to the porch to console our oblivious Wonderbutt for his failed attempt to cross the Channel this summer.

“I think you need to find a different Olympic sport,” I informed him.  “Swimming does not appear to be your best skill.  I’m thinking you should try the luge.  I have a feeling your, uh, shape might be an asset in that event.”

His enthusiasm for this new idea was unbridled.

Note the tongue sticking out – always a dead giveaway that Wonderbutt is tired.

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