(warning: post contains poop)

Last weekend, we had our first official sleepover on the property. Our groovy trailer, with its cooking facilities and pop-out bunk ends ensured a peaceful, comfy night’s sleep. For some of us.

The day started off well. We had decided that it would be a “no-work” mini-vacay. Rumi is just 11 weeks old and I was nervous about how he would react to this routine change. He is a good pup, but even good pups have their limits, and the confines of a trailer would not be conducive to host a bad case of the zoomies which strike nightly.

Fingers crossed, we packed liver treats for Rumi, liquid courage for ourselves, and stopped for supplies in Wakefield. My mad dash through the grocery store resulted in throwing easy edibles into the cart: cheese, wine, couscous salad, yoghurt…you get the idea.

Dave sighed when I showed him my paper sac treasures.

“Where’s the meat?”, he groaned.

Luckily a box of kraft dinner was found at the cabin along with some frozen wieners.

“Yeesh, you go ahead and eat that crap,” I told Dave. “I’m sticking to the fresh options.”

The day was grand. Rumi was introduced to the lake entombed in a puppy life vest. I laughed as he tried to walk and unsuccessfully turn around, until I saw the look on his face. Wet paws were as far as we got and he refused to make eye contact with me for a good 30 minute afterwards. I didn’t think dogs could hold grudges but perhaps standard poodles are the exception.

Mid afternoon arrived as did hunger pangs. As Rumi napped, I snacked.

“OMG this couscous salad is to die for!”, I whisper-yelled to Dave. “You gotta get in on this!”

Dave took one look at the salad and politely declined. His loss. More for me.

Satisfied that I had made every attempt to share the bounty, I continued shoveling couscous down my happy gullet. Our first foray into camping was going well and my high hopes remained firmly so.

Meanwhile Back at the Campfire

Things took a surprising turn that evening. Tummy rumbles erupted at the campfire. Rumi had lasted all of 10 seconds and then firmly indicated he would be more comfortable away from the fire and inside his cool, dark crate. His departure meant I couldn’t blame the rumbles (and such) on him (‘fess up all you dog owners – it’s one of the reasons for getting a dog).

“That’s weird”, I said to Dave, slightly embarrassed. We’ve been married a while so he has grown accustomed to my delicate system.

“I feel fine”, he shrugged. “We’ve eaten the same things so maybe it will pass.”

But we hadn’t. And it didn’t.

You know what’s worse than camping with a new puppy and the outhouse facilities are a good 100 feet away?

The above coupled with raging diarrhea.

The cause dawned on me during my third dash to the thunderbox.

“The couscous salad!” I screamed to Dave as I ran past, leaping over tree roots and stumps.

The fun continued until 2am. Puppy slept through most of it, safely ensconced in his little crate, relieved that the habit of sleeping with me never fully formed. Dave turned in around 11am, wished me luck, muttered some useless advice about not trusting store-bought salad, and threw a blanket over his head. All was quiet except for nocturnal rustlings echoing in the dark and my own human pangs of discomfort.

On my final trip to the outhouse, I prayed that a wild animal would leap out and end my misery with one, swift swipe of a meaty paw. I remembered the story of the Alaskan woman who found a bear in her outhouse. She sat down to do her business and he gave her arse a swat. Seriously.

“I opened the toilet seat and there’s just a bear face just right there at the level of the toilet seat.”

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/alaska-woman-outhouse-bear-attack-1.5920579

Bits of Light

Business finally concluded, I limped back to the trailer with my tattered hopes for a smooth first stay. I stumbled over a familiar tree root, swore loudly and threw my tired gaze upwards. A thousand stars winked back. The night sky, sans light pollution, revealed a blinking blanket of pinpricked light. Just for a moment I forgot my aching nether regions and wounded pride.

Body and mind somewhat re-balanced, I crept back to the trailer, was greeted by snoring husband and dog, and climbed gratefully into my nook. A few more hours and puppy would be up, desperate to pee and play.

Next time, Dave does the shopping.

The Good Karma Cabin Lesson #12: Sometimes life is shits and giggles. And sometimes it is just shits. That’s alright. It is the only way to truly enjoy the giggles.