writing rengeek magpie mind

September 2014

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sf doctor who meant to be?

as i walk these streets i know

It's finally Spring in New England (I got out of Wisconsin just in time, apparently; I beat the blizzard by a day) and I get to be home with my dog for a whole three weeks before I head back to the Midwest.



With spring come the historical re-enactors. There's a pile of them camped out on the town common currently, firing off muskets and terrifying my poor dog. He would like you to know that he is not a gun dog. He doesn't mind thunderstorms in the least, but the musketry was bad enough that he had to climb into my lap and tremble.

I was half tempted to go out there and give them a piece of my mind, but I suppose it wouldn't be neighborly. And they probably have a permit or something.

The bugler playing Taps horribly was more frightening to me. But I'm not a Briard.

ETA: Oh, god, now they're playing fiddle. Badly.

Comments

My fandom sleeps late. It's one of the many things I appreciate about it.
Indeed.

My poor dog. There was musket fire all day today, apparently. He spent it under the table.

(I was helping a friend move; family kept an eye on him.)