Fiasco

That is what I'm calling most of Saturday.

Camping was on the agenda, didn't get on the road until 2:30, and with multiple stops to pick up odds and ends, didn't reach the campsite until 4:30.

The wind picked up, making it difficult to keep a fire going. Well, that, and because we didn't use our extensive Boy Scout knowledge to build the fire properly (kindling, good base, etc.). I think we regressed to amateur Cub Scout status in our haste for relaxation.

The dogs were tied up on long leads, and I now have a nice rope-burn anklet due to chaos between a visiting neighbor dog and Oliver getting feisty. And just so you know, if you grate off the top layer of skin over a tattoo, the ink looks very fresh - you could say it even pops.

Made the mistake of giving Oliver a few bites of chicken, which had been marinated in all sorts of yummy spices, oil and vinegar. What dog wouldn't like that, I ask you?

I don't think there's anything more gross than steamy dog vomit in your lap. Well, maybe when it dries and is cold and sticky. Yeah, that might be the worst.

LET'S BREAK IT DOWN!

- 110 minutes: Drive time to campsite (it was in Babler, which is a suburb of St. Louis)

- 45 minutes: Campsite set up, including camp/cook fire

- 20 minutes: Actual relaxation time (eating, enjoying said fire)

CONCLUSION:
A pact was made that little, pampered feisty dogs are no longer allowed on any overnight camping trips, and if anyone feels the need for dining in nature without a sleepover, Forest Park is the furthest destination allowed.