My in-laws have a place in Whistler, BC that they are generous enough to let us utilize from time to time. It is a beautiful house in a beautiful part of the world and we are spoiled rotten to have access to this home-away-from-home. The following is a peak into one of our weekend getaways.
Our typical Whistler mornings begin with the gradual and painful rousing of the dogs (aka: the sleep-stealers, dream-demons, wake-up-callers-from-Hades-himself). These doe-eyed mongrels have taken on the role of our alarm clock with disturbing dedication and have the ‘waking of the humans’ down to an exact science.
We, the humans, tend to be tired after driving up to Whistler late after work – so we ignore the fur-children, praying fervently that they will somehow be knocked unconscious to allow 10 more minutes of restful bliss. We will wait them out. Today is the day.
Haha. Stupid humans.
BARKKK*YOWLLLL*SNARL*YELP*WRESTLE*TUMBLE*NIP*HOWL*EXPLOSION OF FUR*
Our hollering and roaring tends to drown out the dogs as we explode out of bed – and at the sight of us, Beelzebub’s helpers morph back into affectionate, wriggling masses of unbridled affection (and pee). Everyone is kissed, licked, hugged and smothered until good graces are restored (or bladders explode from joy). Yes this happens EVERY morning we get to ‘sleep in’.
One of our favorite spots to unleash (and when I say unleash I mean keep on a leash. At all times. Because that’s the rule. And we never break rules) the hounds in Whistler is around Lost Lake. A gorgeous area with many different paths/trails (nice and easy) – it has become a go-to for us to run them ragged. Our jaunts consist of periodic glimpses of Tucker as he ninjas through the brush, chasing down imaginary woodland creatures and a frantic Wrenley finding tennis balls from the Jurassic period and willing us to engage in fetch (after 200 throws – the ball becomes his security blanket).
The real magic of this place (or anywhere outdoors) really sinks in when you are loading your precious bundles into the car. In they leap with fervor and glee, snuggling their little bodies into the trunk of the car – what good dogs. We are so lucky. You smile pridefully at your handsome husband and look around smugly to make sure everyone has noticed how perfect your life (and hair) is. Then it hits you. The stench of a thousand maggots. The rot of an animal carcass. The goo/feces of decomposing-god-only-knows-what. Your smile freezes as you stare in horror at the two pups nestling and rubbing their putrid coats into your car. It is at this point that the cursing and the gag reflexes start and your perfect life can’t stop crying from laughter.
With dogs properly exhausted and scrubbed within an inch of their lives, we escape for drool-worthy eats at Elements Urban Tapas Parlour in the village. This quickly became a regular haunt once discovered and we have yet to be disappointed. Pictured below is the ravishing couple pretending to not care at all about the pistachio crusted key lime pie with cilantro coconut sorbet. But friends, they do care. They care a lot.
Stuffed to the gills, we roll back home to hide away in our stretchy (yet totally cabin-chic) pants, unleash the dragons from their lair and settle in for a rip-roaring Hallow’s Eve – complete with a Mission Impossible flick and tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty beverages. Thanks to an Oregon trip made awhile back, we have stashed away some exceptionally scrumptious beers.
Note: Kevin’s adorable idea of ‘stashing away beer’ is to put them in a box, age them and wait to drink them until the recommended time. So cute. My normal idea of ‘stashing away beer’ is to drink it whenever you think it will taste like beer.
So yeah… always.