I threw a party ...

but there may have been a few ... hang ups ... in the party planning phase.

Some background: As you may know, the foster-man has been pretty negligent in his blog-typing duties (he is tapping away for me right now) over the last few weeks.  I would come over and nudge his arm, per usual, to let him know I had a new adventure to tell everyone about.  But he would just give me a pet and keep staring and mumbling at his books.  A few days ago he left for a few days to go to the "Bar."  I've been thinking a lot about what that bad, bad "bar" is, and I'm pretty sure it must look something like this:

I think the "Bar" is near that fire-ball-eye.  Look for a foster-man with flash cards.

Anyway, me and little-hound foster-brother and foster-lady were pretty excited for foster-man to get back from the volcano-laden "Bar."  So foster-lady went out and got some decorations to have a party at the foster-house.  I love parties.  I helped foster lady hang up the decorations, helped make some good food (and kind-of, half-, sort-a thought about ways to help taste it), and, of course, looked out for any potential lion attacks.  Anyway, foster lady had some nice, shiny balloon-looking decorations.  I watched for the lions when she put them up. 

But then.  I discovered the shiny-balloon menace.  When foster-lady left the room, the shiny-balloons started moving and swaying and spinning.  All by themselves.  I knew at that moment that this was some kind of a lion-plot to trap valiant African Lion Hounds and kind party-throwing foster-ladies.  Something had to be done.

So I did what any reasonable, valiant, African Lion Hound would do.  I sounded the alarm.  And then I told those lion-balloons who was boss.  I barked.  And I growled.  And I protected little-hound foster-brother.  He was pretty useless.  He just looked at me with a funny look, let out a huff, and went out his dog-door-flap.  No help at all.  Then, foster-lady came back.  I tried to warn her and keep her from coming in.  I had to protect her from the shiny, spinning lion-trick.  But she wasn't listening to me, in that typical foster-lady fashion.  She went right up to that lion-trick and touched it.  And nothing happened.  I realized, the suburban Virginia lions are not very good at their own lion tricks.  Not like African lions.

So it was safe for the party.  But I made sure to keep an eye on those lion-tricks to make sure there was no trouble a-foot.  Lest those lions figure out how to better infiltrate this foster-house.

Yep, it was a good time.  I had a ball.  And was ready for a nice Lion Hound sleep afterwards.  With my ball, of course.

Ah, that was a good party.