Love at the lake

Raindrops weren’t the only things in the air on our recent trip to Lac Courte Oreilles. (As described here: Lake Luck )

Love was everywhere. I mean everywhere, and expressed in the sweetest possible ways. (Except for the expressions of love we saw by the Ring-Tailed Lemurs at the Wilderness Walk zoo. They express love—or something—in the grossest possible ways. Don’t even ask. And whatever you do, don’t let your mind wander to the absolutely most disgusting things an animal can do.)

Young love in all its pathos was demonstrated by my smitten 2-year-old grandson and his little playmate. She would have none of it, and he was absolutely flummoxed.

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Tales of his prowess as a pantsless fisherman weren’t working

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So he tried the ol’ “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” and rubbed his eyes. Too late. She was on to toes.

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She’s up! That’s a good sign. Right?

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Wait. Did she just WALK AWAY?

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Confusion and dejection. The course of true love never did run smooth.

We still hold out hope. They have about 22 years to work things through.

You can tell a couple is meant to be together if, after 9 years of marriage, they still can cooperate to untangle fishing line.

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Baby Girl loves her Grampy—

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and her uncle.

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Big boy loves his Grampy too.

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And me? I love the whole kit and caboodle of them.

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6 thoughts on “Love at the lake

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