Interahamwe and other stuff...

So. Every afternoon Mom and Dad take me for a walk. Now that my foot is pretty much better, I can walk faaaar. (Every second night Mom washes my feet with an iodine solution ... and then she massages the special cream into my tootsies. It’s wonderful!!!

What’s NOT wonderful are those fucking booties. But I wear them for an hour or more and then Mom takes them off and my feet are Soft as a Kitten’s Bum. And this has really, really helped with my Sore Foot. The lump is still there but it’s not such a bother anymore!)

So, we go for Walks. First we get in the Farmer’s ATV. I jump nimbly into the back. I am Graceful. Even if Mom and Dad fall about laughing at me and call me The Most Uncoordinated Gullumphing Lummox Ever Seen Jumping Nimbly Into The Back Of An ATV. I am the Epitome of Grace, me, Moyo.

Then when we get to the dyke along the Fraser River, I get out. And I trot along next to the ATV. We go down to the river and we play Wolf Wolf.

That’s when I bite Anything that Mom or Dad pick up. I put a Wolf Snarl on my face and I grab their sticks, twigs, grass, whatever... and I Kill It. It’s So Much of Fun! They are Not Allowed to have their own sticks, twigs, grass, whatever. Like a Wolf, I take it and I kill it. Because.

And then we walk through the hops fields by the Fraser River.

Now, today? Mom stayed at the Noahbago because she was playing Domestic Goddess and was swearing her way through a batch of Banana Blueberry Chocchip Muffins. And because it’s wisest to be FAR away from Mom when she’s in Mutinous Muffin Mode, and because it was time for a walk, Dad and I went down to the hops fields.

Dad wanted to take a good photo of the hops field so Mom can paint a picture for the Farmer for his birthday...

Now there are FOUR things you need to know about Here before I tell you the rest.

One: lots of people like to take walks with their dogs or ride their bicycles along the river dyke. And I do mean Lots.

Two: it is summer in BC. This means you get about 4.53 days of hot, and 17million days of rain. And This means there are about 400squillion MOSQUITOES. Everywhere.

It’s like the fucking Interahamwe says Mom as she slaps and hits and whines and complains. And ITCHES!! And, she says, I don’t care if you can’t get malaria from these little arseholes, they BITE SORE! And then she scratches at this spot or that one. These mosquitoes zoom around and Mom fills in all the spaces between them with swearing. It’s like a Great Big BLUE Cloud around here!

Anyway. Three: the Canadian is a Special Breed. Polite, Cautious not to Offend, Soft Spoken and Immensely Politically Correct. They have it down to an Art Form and it’s Enviable. They would sooner Stay Rooted to The Spot or Politely Leave (as we will soon learn) than Perchance Offend a Fellow by Being In His Space, and the heavens forfend, that they might look at a fellow...

AND FOUR: Dad is an endless source of entertainment for Mom because he Simply Cannot Abide “Things” hitting him on the back of his throat ... and he’s not best pleased about them touching his tongue, either.

Ergo watching Dad take headache tablets leaves Mom apoplectic with mirth. It takes about 4 days for him to finally get two tablets down his throat. And he Almost Vomits. Every Time.

Watching him Eating an ice cream off a wooden stick is also guaranteed to provide entertainment. Naturally, he doesn’t find it funny at all. Which makes Mom laugh Even More.

Now that you know these 4 things... so Dad took me for a Walk along the dyke to the hops fields. To get a good photo.

As he got there, 2 cyclists came along... and just as they drew level with him?

He inhaled a mosquito.

What ensued would have made Mom So Proud.

It went like this: (with guttural stridency!) FAAAAAAAAARRRRRRKKKK PPPAAAHHHAAAHHHH (heave heave SPIT!!!!!) FAAAAAARRRRRRKKKKKPAHAHAHHHHHAAAAAAAFFFFFFAAAAARRRRRKKKKK(heave heave) (spit!!) FFFFOOOORRRRRFFFFFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKSSSSSAAAAAKKKKEEEEEPPPAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH (heave heave SPIT)

....it was a wonderful game!! I was jumping about Trying To Catch His Spit!!!!!!!

Which made him go FFFFFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKKOOOORRRRRRFFFFFFMOOOYYYYOOOOO(heave heave SPIT!!!! SPIT)))) and I Jumped More and tried to catch More Spit.

When Dad could finally breath, eyes streaming (and still spitting... which made me, Moyo, keep trying to catch that spit!!) he turned around.... to see two Very Politely Horrified Canadian Cyclists leap off their bikes and push them as fast as they could passed him.

They probably thought he had Tourette’s and shouldn’t be stared at....

That, or we can expect a Mountie Swat Team at the door at 3am....