No balloons, please
Apparently our RoadDog does not like balloons.
It seems odd that he’s six years old and we didn’t know that, but I guess my step kids were young adults when Jake adopted us (that’s really how it works you know) and we haven’t had a birthday party, or at least one with balloons, in our house in quite some time. Not until Sunday.
I threw a little birthday bash for my aunt Sunday, not a big deal, just a family barbecue, but it couldn’t be a birthday party without a cake and then I decided that perhaps one of those lovely helium-filled birthday balloons might make it a little more jolly. (I get these strange notions sometimes. Steve has learned to just humour me most of the time.)
So off I went Sunday afternoon to get that balloon, returning a short time later with my brightly-coloured, floaty prize. Jake came running to the door, took one look at this thing moving about on a string of ribbon and decided he was not impressed. He promptly departed the kitchen, which was highly unusual given all the food prep that was in progress on most available surfaces. I tied the balloon on Carolyn’s chair in the dining room and kind of forgot about it as, I think, did Jake.
A few hours later as my aunt prepared to leave, I remembered to go and retrieve her balloon for her to take home. Steve had Jake tucked in one arm to keep him from escaping as she left and our boy and the balloon soon came virtually face to face, or face to shiny “Happy Birthday” message I guess. Jake was much less impressed.
I confess, I did a bad thing. I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it, the look on that hairy little face was just too funny. Jake was even less impressed.
So I did what I so often do – I grabbed my camera and took a photo. Now all of you can see the look on his face too.
I have only one concern. I wonder what this means for my long-range hope of taking our RoadDog for a ride in a hot air balloon.