A dearth of blogging (partially because of a dearth of internet access, partially because of a dearth of time) means a large summary today and/or of the salient points in several blog entries in a row.

In Biblical style, the last will be first – and man, was the last a doozy.

We left Sunday morning from a great couple of days in Edmonton, visiting sis and brother Susan and Andrew and their kids. All had a good time, and Andrew sent me home with about a pound of frozen hops for beermaking, of four different varieties. In this picture right, you’ll see why, with these on board, we decided that taking the usual, slightly-faster route across the U.S. border and back into Canada would be ill-advised:

Frances was humored enough herself, just by opening the cooler. I’d hear a snigger every time we needed anything out of the cooler. “Do you have any rolling papers?” was the standing joke of the evening.

The terrible part of the day, however, happened about 15 minutes after Frances uttered the deadly phrase, “We’re making really good time today!”

Observe the picture below:

This picture was taken, somewhat lightheartedly, when we noticed the dog had climbed up from her perch in the back of the van, on top of the camping gear and the suitcases in the back.

“Indy, get down!” everybody yelled at her, mostly in fun.

Seconds later, she did. And seconds after that, a horrendous smell emanated from the back of the van. A smell of the “What foul depths of fecal hell unleashed that stench, and where can we drop the napalm to eliminate it?” variety.

Indy had, if you’ll pardon the foul language, shit everywhere.

Apparently, the bison rib we gave her the night before had cataclysmic repercussions.
We stopped as quickly as we could, and, with both children sitting in their seats, holding their noses, we opened the back of the van.

Oh. My. God.

Now, anyone who knows Frances and I, knows that we complement each other well. Frances handles bodily waste issues well, and I’m a pro at dealing with blood and guts. Both of us shun the other’s respective, uh, ability, however. For the first time, I can honestly say that my gorge rose as I was visually assaulted by the scene before us.

Without going into more detail than anyone can possibly need, Indy had somehow managed to hit, in no particular order, three suitcases, one cardboard wine box, thankfully sealed, two plastic containers of camping gear, one seatbelt, two pieces of carpet, one package of marshmallows, one beach towel, and an appalling amount of the van interior plastic.

One hour, six garbage bags, two dishtowels, one beach towel, half a package of diaper wipes and a $9 bottle of Febreze later, we were back on the road – and no longer making good time.