Friday night at our house

September 1, 2012
Not our dogs

Friday night. This was last night:

Oldies are blaring from the family room and M. is singing along in his I’ve-had-a few-beers-and besides-I-can’t carry-a-tune Friday night voice. I open the dog gate to join him and we begin to dance.

Little He, our 14-year-old rescue hound, loves to dance and joins in to Na Na Na Na Kiss Him Goodbye, but stops abruptly when he sees the video camera, believing that it steals his soul. Besides, he’s had his late afternoon Xanax and is a little out of it.

Oh, how I wanted a video of this!

Riley, fearing for his life, stands watching on the other side of the dog gate. He likes to dance, too, but only if we pick him up. M. scoops him up and we all dance.

Over the music, I suggest we need another dog, this time, a pitbull we can put in a red dress and name Roxanne. M. continues to sing.

Dancing, I wonder if he wouldn’t like a chihauhau better, one we could name Bobbbaaay just so we could go in the yard and call him: BOBBBBAAAAYYYY!

I wear out and start dinner; while I cook, my nephew and I text back and forth about the Friday night scenario. He pronounces us “hilarious” and I suggest that next time, he attend graduate school at Stanford so he can participate.

Yes, TGIF, just another Friday night at our house.  What’s Friday night like at yours? 

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