writing rengeek magpie mind

July 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.

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Could be worse, could be medieval bagpipes at 7am.

A British reenactor friend of mine was once awakened at a reenactment at some nifty castle on the continent by Gort The Bagpiping Belgian* circumnavigating their pavilion at 7am.


*I do not know this man, I have never met him, probably will never meet him, but I will always remember him.