Slainte!

Slainte!
So. We're doing our power walk to school today, my children, and I. We're all decked out in our Celtic finery because we Murphys take this one day to celebrate our heritage very seriously. I'm in my family's tartan which cost a cool $600 and a whole lot of blood, sweat, and tears to make. My youngest daughter is in the Stuart tartan, and my youngest son is just doing the green thing since the guys in our family only have ties in our tartan.

The daughter is as cheerful as a wounded badger, as usual, and stomps ahead of us the whole way (except when we're taking our shortcut--which for some reason--offends her further). We get to school and she immediately packs up with her other jackal friends and tries to ignore the embarrassing chubby lady in the ridiculous kilt. Fine I think. We'll just see how much cabbage and corned beef hash YOU get today!

So I'm doing the power walk home. My shins are screaming because I haven't done enough stretching out but I refuse to stop. The sun is rising over the rooftops to dazzle my eyes. From out of a house on the east comes a whole pack of assorted dogs. The two big dogs are growling, but they aren't nearly as terrifying as the three chihuahuas think they are. The biggest one circles around to take out my hamstring to bring me down so the chihuahuas can tear my throat out.

I stare down that dog and say, "REALLY? You're REALLY going to try that on me? How stupid do you think I am?" By this time the dog has stopped trying to figure out how to chew through my Achilles tendon and is staring at me quizzically.
"Go back in your yard, RIGHT NOW! And take your minions with you!"
I kid you not, he turns tail and goes back into the back yard and the rest of the dogs follow!
YES! I feel like Braveheart for a second there.