May 5

So we are out camping (as the pictures can attest to) at the dam. Beautiful weekend. Snow - yes, others campers - no, mosquitoes - no, black bear - yes. So truly an amazing weekend. Brian and Kim and Ryan and and I had a great weekend out in the snowy, wet West Country. 

And after a wonderful couple days we are enjoying the last night of winter (on fucking May 4th!!) when Brian quietly sneaks away to bed, then a few minutes later Ryan cleans up from supper and silently disappears and then there is just Kim and I savouring the last glass of wine from a newly, undiscovered gem. We are out in the crisp, late night evening warding off the chill evening air when we are startled by a sudden, unexpected bang from my trailer. We look at one another to confirm we both heard the same noise. Then again - bang, bang. We are unsure of the explanation behind the - bang, bang - noise. Again bang. We know there is something seriously wrong a mere 20 feet away from us. We move with cautious speed to the trailer. What do we see? Ryan in his underwear. All of the furniture in the trailer askew.  Ryan on his hands and knees with a shoe banging at the trailer in a frenzied panic. Kim and I look at one another, silently acknowledging that Ryan has finally lost his last grip on sanity. I opened the door to talk him off the mental cliff he has backed himself onto....I quietly say, “Ryan?” He turns and barely makes eye contact with me and in a near hysteric state he says, “THERE IS A FUCKING MOUSE!” I barely have time to register that there is a 3 ounce terrorist in my trailer before I look at my wall and see a mother-fucking-mouse 2 feet up my wall trying to dodge my psychotic husband slamming his size 11 hiking books at the wall in a half-hazard-idly way.

 I am suddenly heavily invested in the outcome of this battle. I yell at Ryan, “Kill it! Kill it!” (Of course now that I am aware of the situation I am going to direct Ryan’s actions and attempt to control the entire process) Both Riggs are Turk are eager to vacate the premises and as soon as I open the door they see the opportunity to get the fuck away from their certifiable care giver (having said that I have to acknowledge that Riggs is possibly the best mouser I have ever encountered. He is a machine. So for him to be so willing to abandon this kill is a testament to the crazed state Ryan was in) Anyway the mouse drops from the wall and scurries behind the dog food dish and immediately the dog food is struck by the hiking boots and scattered across the room. After 10 more violent boot slams - success. Ryan grabbed a paper towel and held his trophy by the tail. The varmint was dead.

H So Westeros might need Arya Stark to kill the Night King but I need a crazed, middle aged man in his underwear with a hiking boot to save my world. Thank babe. ❤️