Fishers of Men and Cats and Other Meanies

So, okay, we're throwing a big fish fry for R's family in THREE weeks and need pounds and pounds of fish. So I ask the gang, "Who wants to fish?" None of any of the related kids responded, but I got a resounding resolution from the numerous quadrupeds who populate our homestead:

Fish? You mean REAL fish, not the kind of dried, processed crap in a bag from PetCo you usually give me?Count me in, but I get to DRIVE!

Of course, the Apocolypse ensued. Dogs every where, geese swooping in for their share, and 25 pounds of flipping, flopping catfish trying to leap for their lives.

And in the ensuing mayhem, Sam (R's dog) somehow gulped down 1/4 pound of stink bait while assorted men were trying to keep fish in the boat.

Sam didn't get sick. She's okay. Or will be, until Robert's dad finds out she consumed half a can of costly catfish bait . . .

All's well that ends well, however. The boys caught their fish, the dogs got their ride, and Sam ate lots of really stinky cat fish bait.

Life is good on the lake . . .