Ain't nothing but a hound blog

Title courtesy of Joey; the true pun master of the family.

This blog is dedicated to Auntie Kayla. Sorry I get around to writing my daily entries so late at night. I really don’t mean to keep you up. I hope you get to bed earlier this evening, since this posting will be out by around 8:00 P.M. Kiss Uncle Donnie goodnight for me.

Gilly’s day started at 11:00 A.M., which is becoming a habit. He looked rested, with excellent colour (that swarthy dark skin wears well; one would expect him to look pale, but he doesn’t).

While eating his breakfast, John, Stacey and Justin arrived with bagels aplenty and all the fixings. Kyle has the sniffles, so he stayed back with Grandma Ruth (my Auntie Ruthie). We aren’t sure if it’s allergies or a cold, but John and Stacey felt (and rightly so) that it’s better to ere on the cautious side to protect Gilly from unwanted germs.

We introduced Whistler to Liylah, and they became pals in just 2 sniffs of dog’s tail. They romped about in the yard with John as mediator and Gilly as spectator.

Fred arrived with a bag full of bagels and even more fixings to add to the bounty. I got the hint: it was time to spread out the feast.

Yaron heard the clatter of dogs, plates and cousins, and at what would normally be considered an ungodly hour, he emerged from his den to join his kinfolk. Grandma Shirley entered the scene soon after.

Justin and Yaron have a thing going. Since he could speak, Justin always called Yaron his precious Ron. He understood ‘Ya’ as ‘your’ and so one day he said, “He is my Ron. My precious Ron.” He got quite a rise from this misinterpretation of Yaron’s name. We often tease him; “No, he’s my Ron,” but Justin claims him as his own, and won’t have it any other way. They have an unusual relationship that picks up where it left off every time they have a chance to be together (usually in Birch Point). The picture of the two of them above depicts their special bond. They love to play physically. Usually Kyle is right in there too.

I didn’t think Gilly would be hungry, having just had breakfast, but the company and colourful, mouthwatering fare stimulated his appetite. I’m not sure whether to call it breakfast # 2 or lunch number 1.

What a beautiful way to kick start the weekend. Conversation circulated around the table, as the dogs playfully teased one another. We had to vacuum the hair at least twice during the meal, but it was great fun regardless.

Gilly eventually had his fill, and went downstairs for a rest. Fred left, and Joey soon took his spot, tired of waiting for Susie to buy out Winners; anxious to spend time with John et al. Out came more plates, and the food fest continued.

By 3:00, John and Co. had to part, so we bid them adieu knowing we’d see them next week at Evan’s graduation party. It’s always a pleasure to celebrate momentous occasions as a family. Grandma made her way out around the same time.

Joey and set ourselves down on the couch for a while, until I excused myself to give Gilly his lunchtime pill (we’re really moving things up, I tell you). Joey followed along behind to say hi to Gilly. They sat and visited while I made lunch #2 (he was actually hungry yet again). We conversed as a threesome while Gilly munched down his food. Susie showed up just in time to eat her share before the rest of the food was put away. Of course Joey and I could not be rude and have her eat alone, so we nibbled some more. The eat-a-thon went on from about noon to 5:00 inclusive.

Our sweet Tamara came by once everyone else had disappeared to drop off some jelly bellies for her dad, and Felix and Norton cookies for me. Why am I gaining the weight Gilly must surely be losing, I wonder?

While driving Tamara to meet her friends, I received a call from Gilly to inform me that Liylah had eaten our frozen dinner (a hearty soup with all 4 food groups)! Oh well, I suppose she thinks we’ve gorged enough today. I need higher counters in my kitchen.

I guess we’ve finally worked up our dinner appetite (how, I really can’t tell you). Gotta run, so we are not up all night waiting for the final dose of the evening: Temodal.