A Dog Party, Sort of.

 Last night at dinner Papa Bob, his lady friend, and my son debated the thrills of bungee jumping versus sky diving. Has Papa Bob been bungee jumping too? He didn't tell me this. (He will be 79 in September.)Before I could ask, he said he hadn't, but he might like to. Luckily his friend did not find leaping off a cliff with a giant rubber band tied to her ankles as much fun as jumping out of an airplane at 20,000 feet with a parachute and neither did my son. (Phew.) After everyone was in bed except JJ and I, the fireworks began again at a picnic down the beach and my poor old dog Forte went wiggy, panting and whining and trying to get up the stairs, which an old dog should not do because getting down is harder than going up, just like the Mt. Ripinsky Run was for Chip, but that's another story. The night of the 4th had been a long sleepless one for Forte (and us) and I didn't want a repeat. I was getting the dog settled when Phoebe the terrier went crazy barking. A big rottweiler was slamming herself up against the beachside door, she had no doubt been running from the fireworks. We recognized her as a friend's gentle old dog Roxy and let her in. She bolted straight through the house and up the stairs and settled on the second floor landing, drooling. We could not budge her. We made several calls to the owners, but no one was around. (It was ten by now.) Then a truck pulled in and we met it, hopeful that a message had been received and Roxy would be rescued. (We could not talk her into standing up, much less coming downstairs.) Phoebe was barking again, and Forte panted and hobbled and even woofed. The truck owner was not here to pick up the dog. It was our friend John with a tub full of fresh salmon. "Seriously?" JJ said as she took the handles and looked at it. "What are we going to do with these, right now?" "Put them in cold water until the morning," he said over the barking dogs. "Where's Chip?" He asked, and when we said he was asleep, John laughed. (How could he be sleeping through all of this? That run on the 4th may have something to do with it.) Then JJ gave John a plate of cookies to take home and we dealt with the fish. We stacked them in smaller tubs in the empty fridge above the garage and rinsed out the big tub they came in so the bear that's been on Pyramid Island wouldn't smell it and come by. By then it was about 11, and so we tried once more to get the visiting dog downstairs but she wasn't moving. We figured she could spend the night, and turned out the lights and were heading to bed when two more dogs arrived on the back porch and the three in our house barked and leapt. (Well, except for Roxy who just barked and stayed put.) It was Roxy's owner's mother and a friend with their dogs. Seeing the familiar face Roxy quit quivering and stood up and was slowly coaxed down the stairs. She was almost back outside (the other dogs were in by now, thumping and barking and tripping us) when she heard another firecracker and backed up, digging in her heels. After much laughter, barking and pushing on hind ends, we managed to get three dogs and two people outside, and keep two dogs and two people inside, before we shut the door. Phoebe barked for another ten minutes just for good measure. The good news is that Forte was so worn out by the excitement that he slept through the night, I have some fish to smoke, and if Papa Bob decides today would be a good day to bungee jump there's no place in Haines to try it. 



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