This was a weekend to learn to roll with the punches.  We, the family, decided we were due for a camping trip, since our last one was July 4th, last year.  After our normal Saturday hectivities, we loaded up my car and ambled our way towards Holly Point, only having to turn around once because I forgot to pack ketchup.

You should know, if you don’t already, that we can walk out our back door and 2 minutes later, be right on the lake.  You should also know that we have a very strange phobia of snakes and spiders.  We assume that we have bigger, more poisonous ones in our own back yard than the camp ground has in theirs, making a 10 minute drive more desirable than a 2 minute walk (10 minutes, with gear).

And so it was after 5pm that we hit the road last night.  We found a lovely little lot to pitch our tent (#37, if you’re still looking at the map).  And I do not mean to imply that we pitched the tent.  No, it was LoveMonkey who did all the hard work.  And a fine job he did, too.  When the last spike was driven into the ground and our old tent stood proud and strong, he rode off to register us at the front gate and I began dinner preparations. 

In no time at all, the fire was roaring, the bratwurst was unwrapped, and kids and dogs alike were salivating and whining about dying of hunger.  The second – and I mean second (I cannot express to you just how coincidental the timing) – LoveMonkey backed my car down into our camp site, the sky opened up.  No warning drizzles.

We all retreated to the tent where we expected to wait out the typical, spring time, tornado-bearing thunder storm and then return to our normal camping activities.  We watched the fire turn to mud and I began calculating whether I had enough charcoal to try this again and cook breakfast in the morning.  Quickly, I decided we’d have to supplement with fast food.

The kids got antsy, the LoveMonkey got sullen.  Toby the dog stretched out on a sleeping bag and made himself right at home.  I scratched Woody’s ears and thought about what a strange dog he truly is.  I read that Weimaraners were originally bred to hunt wolves, deer, and bear.  Woody, however, did not read that book.  He’s afraid of his own shadow.  At night, there are parts of our yard that are so dark and scary to him that he won’t even look in their direction.  When he smells what other dogs have marked, he scurries away.  He’s not afraid of other animals – quite the opposite.  Just their scent.

Back in the old days, because of the rarity of big game in his region of Germany, the Weimaraner easily adapted to become a bird dog and personal hunting companion.  Woody exhibits some of these traits.  For example, he’s like Velcro to his people – won’t / can’t leave our side.  And one day when I took him to Pet Smart, he nearly broke his nose trying to nip at the parakeets flying around behind a glass cage.  His feet are webbed, making him great for retrieving water fowl.  However, he’s frightened of water.  I don’t mean he just doesn’t like to swim – he’s as phobic of water as we are of backyard snakes and spiders.  If given a water dish that is too large, he won’t go near it.

But he’s a good great dog; the best I’ve ever had.  I love him.  He is my canine soul mate, even though he was cowering in the tent, hating the outdoor life, hating the rain, and wondering what the hell his crazy humans were thinking.  Just then, it dawned on every single one of us at the same time; It’s wet in here.

Very little investigative work was required to figure out that the tent was leaking from the top and the bottom.  Wet kids, wet dogs, and wet gear were loaded quickly and haphazardly into the car.  The tent spikes were salvaged from 6 inches of gravel and 3 inches of water (it turns out, we picked a nice bowl-shaped hole to camp in), packed in a plastic bag and thrown in with the rest of the gear.

And our 15 year old tent was pitched for the second time that night; this time, in the dumpster on our way out of the camp ground.

This would be a lovely place to end the story, but oh, no!  There’s more!

When we reached the only traffic light between our house and the campground, it was out.  Dead.  Caput.  This told us all we needed to know about the comforts of returning home.  Because the electricity was out (which happens way too frequently in our neck of the woods), our garage door opener was of no use.  I jumped out of the car, waded to the front door and entered the garage from the house so I could manually open the garage door so that LoveMonkey could back in and we could unload in a relatively dry environment.  No sooner did the children and the dogs pour out of the car did they remind us that they were near starvation.  This is where our night turned around.

We dried off (in the dark) and drove to our favorite Mexican restaurant, where we hatched a plan to camp anyway.  By the time we returned home, the electricity was back on.  We moved the coffee table out of our way in the living room and rolled out dry sleeping bags right in the middle of the floor.  The kids enjoyed watching TV until they fell asleep.  LoveMonkey and I enjoyed the crazy, family adventure.

And Woody still doesn’t know what to make of the whole evening, but is very happy that he got to sleep on the couch.