|The departure of the puppies|
At about 5 pm, about half an hour after the puppies left (with a big wave and a “Take care, Rich”) a pickup truck pulling a pop-top trailer goes by, slows down, goes to the end of our little “street,” pauses, pulls into the empty space down there, pauses, swings wide and comes back to the puppy spot. It pulls in, pauses. Pulls forward, backs up, pulls forward, and stops with the trailer in a reasonably level spot. Out of the truck get Dad, Mom with babe in arms, two kids in the 5-7 age range. Mom and Dad confer. The body language says it all: she doesn’t want to camp here. He does. Many gestures. She gets back in the truck with the babe. The kids run around like small released wild things. Dad opens the tail gate and releases two labs from plastic crates. Dogs and kids run around. Dogs immediately come over to my “yard” and poop.
Dad cranks down the stabilizer on the trailer to take the weight off the hitch. He jumps up in the truck bed, and starts a generator. He pulls a long cord out of the trailer and plugs it in to the generator. Mom emerges from the truck cab, and confers with Dad. Long conference. More gesticulating. Dad turns off the generator, stows the cord, corrals the dogs and crates them. Kids get in truck. Dad gets in truck. They drive off.
The beginning of a relaxed, fun-filled Memorial Day weekend? Yeah, right! I wonder where they wound up.
As I write this, another group pulls in. No dogs, no babies. Two adults and three teenagers.