I didn't stitch at all this weekend.
I had a better offer.
Instead of stitching, I spent the weekend on the banks of a tributary of the Choptank River on Maryland's Eastern Shore. HTB's mom and her sisters have a summer cottage right on the water. I've never been down, because HTB doesn't go down a lot and, usually, I have to work. These are the moments when having a part time job really gets me down. Anyway, we went down this weekend in the camper. Other than getting a lot of ticks, it was fun.
The dogs loved it. Although Shocka was not sure what to make of it all. This is a dog who adores our pool. His entire existence in the summer revolves around getting up on the deck to see if he can get in it. I guess creek water (I am starting to realize there are "cricks" and there are creeks. I live near a crick. No way was this a crick, LOL) is a big change. He couldn't seem to figure out that water flows. If something goes in it, it doesn't stay there. Not ducks, not muffins we put in to feed the ducks, not a tennis ball. He wasn't sure he liked that. He really was not sure he liked Caesar Beazer swimming in it. I think he thought Caesar would go like a muffin. But he went in with Caesar, he waded (and took the sticks Caesar kept bringing out, thank God he didn't go for a water snake). He went in, kinda willingly, but we were afraid he couldn't swim so we stood at the ready, waiting to have to pluck this big dog out of the water.
He preferred the dock. He kept walking up and down it, watching the waves. Then we went swimming. Well, he didn't like that at all. He stood on the dock and yodeled--he doesn't bark, he yodels, it's enough to peel paint. He didn't want Mummy and Daddy in that water, he wanted us close. So HTB's parents helped him in. And he realized he could do it. That water wasn't so bad. Not when, standing on his hind legs with his front feet on Daddy's arm, he could stand up. He gave both of us kisses to make sure we were OK, and then he was off.
He was in the water all day. HTB's mom and I went into town to get something, and his father was watching them. He quickly realized that, if he could hear them, it was OK, but they got really quiet, and he realized that they were walking away through the creek. And Beazer was easing the little snails on the marsh grass.
Amazingly they did not step on a crab. Or an oyster shell.Or a beer bottle left over from earlier days when family members disposed of trash by throwing it in the water. Shocka did cut himself on a rock, but he isn't even limping. I think he had a good time. There may be a future as duck retrievers for these two pittybulls.
It was a lovely weekend. Nice and hot, but campers with AC and close proximity to water made it tolerable. We had Eastern Shore Chicken BBQ for dinner Saturday evening. I found out all about the house, how it was an old slave cabin MIL2B's grandfather convinced her father to buy for the then-staggering price of $750 in the 1930s. How going "downa shore" in her childhood meant a ferry ride, during which she could not get out of the car because they thought she would fall overboard, no electricity in the house til 1971, and they did dishes by hand--she said my then-two-year, very adorable fiance was fascinated by the tools they used to build on an addition and bring the house up to modern standards; he was destined to be a tinkerer! We ended the evening, sitting on the porch in the dark, watching fireflies dance in the breeze and, farther off, lightning over the water. It was such a wonderful way to pass the time.
They escorted Daddy down the dock. I wanted a shot of him posed with them. None of the three stood still long enough.
"I not a water dog. I a land lubber. I stay on the shore. I buried a bone on land. I watching my investment."
"I not sure about dis. I trying to be brave, but I not a Lab!"
"I can help Grampa in hunting season. I get dem geese for you. I not give em back when I gets em, and I'll drool, but I gets em."
Beazer and I. Two red-headed, sunburned Marylanders!