Creatures of habit, we end the summer with a trip to the CNE. It's always a horrible and wonderful day.
The food is terrible, beyond the conveyor belt riding tiny donuts and other sticky fair treats. The beer, if you want/need one, is impossible to enjoy given the price and the other patrons in the tent - if you decide to stay in the tent, which you don't if you're us, because the last table was taken by the obviously underage snits ahead of us in line to get in. How dare they have kept us standing there with congealing pizza cheese while their ID's got squinted at and doubtfully approved! Then they took the last plastic lawn seats and open table while we looked around desperately, ending up on a window ledge nearby instead.
The other fair-goers also find ways to annoy me in ways they must be utterly unconscious of, because really - who else could leave the house in dirty flip-flops with heels that crusty, shuffling along as slow as cold sick, yet doing so with such exertion that great dark rings of oily fried perspiration seep through the clinging polyester blends on their backs; then after wandering aimlessly they stop short, causing me to smack into their stinking hulls (and I am always about nose to armpit in height compared to them), and they give ME a look that says I'm some kind of troglodyte? And I am speaking in the plural "they", because places like the CNE seem to lure these boors there like hornets to fresh steaming dog poo.
So, once in a while, sometimes, infrequently, it would clear up a bit, and I'd be able to enjoy a moment. Josie and I both love the petting zoo, especially when people got out of the way of my photo opportunities.
This wee goat was absolutely the cutest ever, in the world, bar none. There is no goat that is sweeter, or more darling and don't even try to show one to me. I love this one. It was all I could do not to stuff it in my purse and take it home.
The SuperDog show seemed only to highlight Molly's faults in Steve's eyes. He was quick to point out that there were no Super Basset Hounds. Admittedly, Molly's a bit dopey, and slobbery, and I don't think "elegant" is an adjective I might ever be able to apply to her... and well, she is attentive sometimes, but is generally rather boneheaded. But I wouldn't trade her for another, no matter how smart, fast, obedient and bright a dog like this is:
It was heartbreaking for us to see the six month old Rottie, though.
She was sweet, and gentle, and regal although she was young. We all caught our breath when we glimpsed her eyes, and though might not admit it now, he told me then: Steve got a bit choked up. We miss our old Beauty so much, and I still question sometimes whether another Rottie might have been a good pet again. But I do love Molly, and I love her even more for her differences, though Steve can't quite seem to embrace her yet. And it is kind of fun to call Molly "Stupor Dog".
There's always the duck game, with its guaranteed prize. Said prize is already broken, and that's being screamed about as I type.
Josephine is also big enough to go on more rides, and I particularly liked the little flying bees. Look at the bee-tocks! Look at the ittle shoes!
I've lost my stomach for rides of height and speed and spinning though. Only the tamest will do. No Ferris Wheels for me, not even the wee caterpiller ride (not so long ago, Josie called caterpillars "pashaputers", and Steve and I stood there and missed those days for a few seconds). As these bees were flying around in a circle, there was the option to raise them up or down by pulling a bar. I distrust rides of height and rotation that let passengers control them as such, and I freaked a bit as Josie begged us to go higher and higher and then to swoop lower and lower. She shrieked and giggled so much operator made a mention of it to me on our way out. I wonder, how shall the squeamish raise a daredevil?
And every year, we pass back through these gates, the sun in the pinkening sky to the left and the lights of the fair whirling and flashing to the right. This year, Josie walked through them with Steve instead of sleeping in the stroller. But once through, Steve swooped her up, and the difference this year was most noticeable in that her ankles dangle by his knees.
And next year she might not need to be carried at all.