Last night, we meandered up to the square and had a quick drink at the school's parent's association drink tent before the fireworks started. The current president of the group offered us some sort of rosé mixed with lemon syrup and sparkling water. As she served us from an old 2 liter Orangina bottle, I prepared myself for the worst. But, you know, it actually tasted much better than it sounds and I'm sure I could see myself trying to make this concoction at home. Perhaps I'll have better success with alcohol than I did with my first batch of yogurt.
After chatting happily for a bit and watching the kids run like insane French revolutionary soldiers around the square, Hubster headed off with the big three to see the show. Whoops and I headed back to the house to keep tabs on the dogs.
As is the case every year, Typhon doesn't take too kindly to the bangs and booms from the fireworks. And as expected, at the first "pop" he was off looking for the smallest place he could cram himself.
About an hour after everything was over, he finally came outside again. Nothing like a wacking great malamute trying to climb up into your lap for reassurance.
I don't have to heart to tell him that this is all going to happen again tomorrow.