A mixed weekend

So this was our first father-son weekend of the spring and if I do say so myself, all was a success. Of course there's some interesting, larger-than-life dads and beyond-amusing-into-the-realm-of-wow-you're-going-to-be-an-overly-exciting-camper-to-be-around sons, but overall, the families were wonderful. There were two boys especially that absolutely had my heart; they were precious— but little boys will do that to you! I belayed on the rock wall all morning without gloves, which was stupid as the ropes were filthy, but I enjoy belaying more and more every chance I get at it. The afternoon was riding, which is always frustrating but, in my opinion, rewarding. We were short on riding staff but it worked. Bandit was fairly good for the first half but his mind was elsewhere the latter part of the afternoon— he spazzed out and broke a four-horse-long string of dallied horses and I was annoyed. But alas, it's been a month since I've been on him. He's in good condition on that senior feed; I need to take pictures. He looks wonderful at fifteen! Ahh.. he turned fifteen this week.. Wow. I've had him since he was barely six.

Anyway, the rest of today was rock wall belay again, some clean-up, and lots of sitting around and talking. Pretty easy if I do say so myself, and I even got a little paycheck which should pay for Hop's vet checkup this month and the fact that my car needs crap done to it. Boo.

Kate, Drew, Matt (a younger guy from Alamo Heights), and eventually Kile all helped out for the weekend. It ended up being a really fun group despite seeming like an odd dynamic on the outset. Virgin strawberry margaritas will always make me laugh now.

Hopalong thought Father-Sons were amaaazing. Found out that he gets to stay through the summer definitely, which I'm vastly excited about. He almost went down the waterslide, ran through the dining hall during lunch, humped Kiley during the rock wall morning, stole a box of graham crackers and two Hershey's bars during campfire and ate them, and lifted his leg and marked a "tree" which actually turned out to be a kid army-crawling around in the grass in a camouflage coverall. Overall a success and he was very well-liked.

Sad, though, is Molly's condition. She spent a lot of the weekend asleep on my porch (I made her a bed out of some fake sheepskin material and two dry bags) and has trouble getting up or walking or anything else. One kid asked why we were letting a dog starve to death— she does look awful. I didn't expect my own reaction, though, when Scott and I cajoled her to get off my porch and drive home with his family— he told the quaking-legged Molly to "say goodbye" to me and I absolutely lost it. Can't even tell you exactly why, but I sobbed for a good half-hour. I wasn't as worked up about my grandad's death at the actual time. She was such a wonderful dog, so, goodbye, Molly. I'm glad Richard is out in the world to field my hysterical phone calls at 2 in the afternoon on a Sunday. Gosh, I do miss him.