"Blood, puke and and angry dutchman." Or "Betsy's fun-filled Sunday."

Subject:

Betsy's mom and stepdad were in town this weekend for a brief visit (and something about a piano). Today they and Betsy went down to Neptune Beach to visit Lars' daughter and granddaughter. Feeling not-so-fresh, I stayed at home and slept most of the day. Turns out that was a good thing.

Betsy called me around 3:30 in the afternoon. From a hospital.

Turns out, Lars had fed the remnants of last night's salmon dinner from Outback to Debbie's Lab-St. Bernard mix. Then it was off to the beach, in Lars and Connie's Buick. The day's equation for fun is 1/3 lb. of salmon + bouncy car ride = back seat full of dog puke. So much that Betsy "couldn't believe that much could come out of a dog's stomach." So enter act 2 - the cleaning. This somehow involved a knife, and inadvertently some bleeding on Lars' part.

So the search was on for medical assistance. One would figure that your typical immediate-care office could handle a minor flesh wound. But no, it turns out they can't serve patients over 65. Yes that's right. In sunny Florida, retirement paridise, you can't get quick-care to throw a couple of stitches in your finger if you're retirement age. Go figure. So off to the hospital then, where the story began. Everybody's ok, presumably, but I can't imagine it's going to be a pleasant drive back to Ohio in the pukemobile.