GOod weekend. Nothing too exciting. Read a lot, played with the dogs a lot, slept a lot. Pretty much accomplished my goals for the weekend.
Went to Gallery opening at my sister's gallery on Friday. Not necessarily the smoothest thing in the world, but the art was so good that it didn't really matter. I got off early on Friday and went to help her with a letter, and I ended up staying until the opening started (never got home to change) because there was a screw up with the printer, and we couldn't get the lables for the art printed until after the show started. But all ended well, and they're going to make a lot of money for this show.
When I got to the Ranch on Saturday, my dad suggested we go fishing. I haven't been fishing with my dad in years, so I agreed. The first snafu was when we got the equipment out. Half of it was gone. It'd been at least three years since I'd been fishing, so I had no idea what had been used last and who had had it. Fortunately, a trip to WalMart had already been made for the "Bass Assassin" earlier that day, so we had the proper lures. We got the equipment we had, and we treked to the lake.
When we got to the lake, my father and I found our boat to be full of water. We had had an unusually wet summer this year, and we figured that the rainfall had caused the boat to be water logged. We flipped the boat over and rid ourselves of the water. Unfortunately, we probably also rid ourselves of the plug that goes into the boat. So we were screwed as far as the boat was concerned. No matter, there were the canoes! The first canoe had been recently run over by a tractor, and though it had been patched, we decided put our fate in the non-tractor-runned-over canoe. We got in and rowed.
My father found a spot on the other side of the lake, and we disembarked. Knee deep in muck, we decided to cast our lures and see what fate woudl bring back. Fortunately for me, fate brought back the half of my pole that went with the lure on my admittedly enthusiastic cast. The pole wasn't hooked together properly, and I watched as most of it went flying into the water. I reeled in, got everything untangled and tried again. I reached back, let go of the reel and pitched forward. I heard nothing for a few seconds and then a tell tale *plop*. I was elated. My lure was in the water. I then looked at my pole. Everything was exactly as it had been before, and it was soon apparent to me that my lure had gone out without the benefit of having a line attached to it. It was now a free agent, and I had no way of attracting fish to me. I alerted my father to the situation, and he informed me that WalMart has supplied him with yet another lure.
Not trusting me with tying on my own lure, my father handed me his pole and told me to go ahead and use it until he got the new lure tied on my pole. I went back into the muck and got about knee deep in when I tried again. Arm back, let go, throw forward, wait for *plop*. No *plop*. No *plop*. No *plop*. I examined the pole. The line was taut. The reel was in. The lure was gone. Ten minutes of searching behind where I was standing did not produce the lure. Getting down on my hands and knees did not produce the lure. My father wondered what I was doing, and came over. Clearly disappointed taht I could never be trusted with fishing equipment, he mounted his own search. No avail. He then cast his own lure. Though the line was short, the lure went out. Triumphantly, he looked at me. He reeled in and cast again. *Plop*. The lure was out about 40 feet past where it was humanly possible to cast. My father said, "Fuck, let's go." and we got back into the canoe. Rowing away, dejected.
Halfway back to the dock, I pointed out a renegade duck decoy. Duck season started 11 months ago, and these decoys had been out for awhile. With the impending duck season upon us, my father decided that we better bring in the flock in for repairs. So we went on a canoe bound decoy hunting expidition. Under circumstances that my father refused to elaborate on, many of the decoys were full of buckshot and therefore waterlogged. I was somehow impressed that my father managed to shoot his own decoys. He did defend himself by pointing out that he was under enormous pressure from Holden, my sister's retriever, to actually shoot something worth bringing back. I've seen the profound disappointment on Holden's face when he's come back from a hunting trip empty handed, so I understood. Some of the decoys were so water-logged it was a minor miracle that we located them, and the holes in them were exactly the size of buckshot. IN all we rescued eight of them, and we returned home with at least something to account for our trip to the lake.
On Sunday, my sister arrived. She said that she wasn't coming up this weekend because she was dog sitting for a friend of hers. By Sunday morning, the dogs had exhausted her, and she needed a break. So she drove 100 miles with three dogs in her car (one of whom managed to roll up the window on his head, surprisingly, this was not Holden), to get them to the ranch so they could run. Up until this point, the ranch was a lazy affair. Relampago and The Puppy had run and chased each other for awhile, and my mother and I were working in the garden, hacking at roses. My sister arrived as we were taking a break. First, there was barking. Then the arrival. It is nearly impossible to describe the pandemonium that occured. The Puppy was the first to react. He barked, having no other real idea what to do. Relampago, alerted to the invasion of two dogs he didn't know, emerged and started chasing. Farley, one of the visitor dogs, understood the "chase" concept, and started running. The Puppy, understanding that he had to lend his vocal support, chased the Relampago, hot in pursuit. And Holden, who liked to be chased by Farley, chased the whole entourage. Dixie, the only female, and apparenlty the smartest of the lot, chose to stay out of the fracas. It took 20 minutes for the ensuring pursuit to end. It was impossible to tell who was chasing whom, and one was reminded of old scooby doo cartoons. At one point, Farley lapped everyone. In the living room.
My sister, seeing the look on my mother's face, decided that this should all happen outside, and Holden and Farley immediately headed for a couple of laps in the lake. Dixie and the Relampago and The Puppy all growled at each other and when the other two returned, the chase continued. About two hours later, every singled dog was thoroughly worn out.
It was a good weekend. My dad traded his Porsche in for a BMW SUV after having bottomed out the Porsche in Houston construction one too many times, and he was delighted that it absolutely took him no effort at all to get the new car up to 110 miles per hour. I got to go to WalMart myself and pick up a couple of things, and I got home earlier this afternoon to go to a friend's 30th birthday party.
Good times had by all and I hope everyone else had a very good Labor Day weekend!