Fun times with the Eiferts

Two weekends ago we visited Wenatchee and spent time with our friends Hope and Ellis. We did some fairly urban camping as well as boating, s'more roasting, talking, and sight-seeing. Wenatcheee is a beautiful area; built around the Columbia River, the Wenatchee area has acres of cherry trees, apple trees, vineyards, and more.





Here are the Eiferts at Farmer's market



And here we are:



This is one of those fabulous cherry stands located all throughout Wenatchee. Best cherries we've ever eaten.


Even Hope agrees:



We took the two youngest Eifert kids (Ellis' siblings, there are 11 of them) boating with us. Here I am with Margaret:



And here we are, the very scary Cohens:




Joel and Ellis were the most intense about their tubing:


Joel had a good time


And so did Margaret



Here we all are on Sunday before church:

The Cohen Zoo

Yesterday was an exciting day at the Cohen petting zoo. It began around 1 when I received a call from Joel.
"Umm, Christine?"
"Yes, dear?"
"There is a bird in our house."
"Is it alive?"
"Oh yes, it's hopping around shedding feathers left and right."
"Where is Whiskey?"
"Well, she's chasing it."

After advising Joel to lock Whiskey outside, I came home to survey the damage. Joel hadn't lied, a torrent of feathers lay strewed around our house. In the midst of the carnage a very scared looking Robin crouched under our piano stool. I did the eco-friendly thing and rescued the poor bird. Elissa, you would be proud. While I didn't attempt to set its broken leg myself, I did stick it in a shoebox and transport it to the nearest wildlife rehabilitation center. We were fast friends by the end of the trip, I'd even considered naming him.

Whiskey has a habit of bringing her trophies inside and depositing them in her food-bowl. This would explain how the Robin found itself unhappily trapped in our house. It would also explain the appearance of our second guest of the day. While I was making dinner, Joel's voice came from the other room.

"Umm, babe?"
"Yeah?"
"There's a mouse in the house."
"Is it alive?"
"Well, yeah..."

And so the story repeated itself. Me chasing the little furry rodent around and finally managing to trap it under a teacup. Unlike the robin, the mouse didn't get to go to a comfy animal hospital. In fact it met a somewhat more depressing end (children, leave the room now). Despite my pleas to let it go free, Joel remained firm. He wanted Whiskey to learn how to kill mice. So we marched the poor rodent outside and stuck it in the grass next to our cat. Whiskey, however, while she makes a charming house-pet, is a failure as a mouser. She stared in fascination at the mouse, following it around and occasionally knocking it off its feet. The claws never came out, the teeth remained firmly shut. In fact, she was so un-intimidating that the mouse soon considered her a friend, and tried several times to snuggle up against her. This was too much for Whiskey, who was able to maintain at least some shred of dignity and backed away from her admirer in confusion. After several hours of inaction on the part of our cat, Joel took matters into his own hand and sent the mouse sailing into the next life with the help of a mouse-trap. I voted pro-life, but my husband, ever the practical one, voted anti-hantavirus. And that was the end of the Cohen zoo.