Franklinsanity

7:10 am, kids are awake.  Have been for awhile, actually, but were decent about staying in their sleeping bags.  Keeping with our emerging theme of togetherness, we all slept in the same room, along with the dogs.  Of course, Mom & Dad got a king-size bed – and the bedroom is larger than the entire car (certainly it has more than 95 cubic feet of “passenger space”).  The kids got sleeping bags – and the dogs got a folding crate.

Let’s talk about the dogs.

Normally, the furry Franklins bed down right when Kelly and I do, and but for a bit of snuffling, snorting and shifting, sleep the night through.  Not so much, last night.

In fairness, Kingsley’s not used to being in a crate any longer – and the folding crate also is alien to Oonagh, who has her own box, which we had to leave at home.  (It took up at least 3 cubic feet.)

At any rate, at 1:30 am or so, both dogs were in full whine.  So, like the good soldier that I am, I tiptoed over the sleeping kids, rattled and jiggled the unfamiliar crate mechanism, took them downstairs and opened the front door, praying there wasn’t a burglar alarm on somewhere.

No burglar alarm.  Just an almost completely full moon, in a cloudless night sky, and the Milky Way.  I’ve seen it before, even in the mountains under a full moon.  It never gets old, though.

The dogs hadn’t seen it – we’ve never taken them out at night.  Mr. The King stood stock still, staring at the moon for a good five minutes.  I kept waiting for him to howl, or something.  Instead, he just peed and chased Oonagh into a prickly bush.

So, got them back inside and went back to bed.  Now it’s time for pancakes!  I can’t possibly write about Kelly’s psychotic dreams on an empty stomach.