My dad was sitting with my Uncle Phil on the front patio, having a beer in the adirondack chairs and exchanging increasingly more witty and less appropriate middle-aged man banter. I can only assume it was also a sunshiney Saturday afternoon... but maybe not. There were probably birds chirping though. At least in my version.
Anyway. The conversation went something like this.
Dad: You know, nothing exciting ever happens around here.
Phil: ...What are you talking about?
Dad: It's boring, nothing exciting ever happens!
Phil: Okay. Let me tell you what's happened in the past two minutes we've been sitting here. The big dog [Snuffy, our late border collie] has been carrying around that tennis ball chew toy thing of his. The little one [Lily, our late Boston terrier who developed cataracts and subsequent blindness, grey hair and bald spots, papery-thin ears, and extreme breathing problems in her older years] has been growling and snorting and holding on to the same chew toy with her teeth while her feet hang about three inches off the ground, and the the big dog has been running FULL TILT back and forth across the patio with her. MEANWHILE, the fluffy one [Rocky, a blond pom-poo who bears an uncanny resemblance to a toilet brush, who is alive and kicking and is also a total asshole] has been following them, barking at the top of his lungs, and trying to MOUNT Lily while she hangs on for dear life to said chew toy. This has been going on for several minutes. And you say nothing exciting ever happens here?
Dad: (pause) ...Well that's not exciting, it's just normal.
Ahh. Ladies and gentlemen, just a normal day at home.
And for your relevant enjoyment, my most recent photo of Rocky in his element.
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