A few days before the new year, I was lying in bed in the cabin with the Englishman as we pulled thorny twigs from Duke’s long, fluffy winter coat. The fire was the only thing heating the small house that we enjoy on weekends and holidays in the winter. I looked at Brandon and remarked how different my life was now.
The next morning, I was loudly and dramatically reminded of how truly, madly different life has become. In my favorite pajamas, I went downstairs to brew some tea and let Duke out for his morning constitution. While filling the teapot, I glanced out the window and saw a burst of bird escape from the trees.
Then, the horns.
Then, the sound of me screaming at Duke to get back into the house, screaming at Brandon to please-come-right-now-before-Duke-is-carried-away-and-we-never-see-him-again, screaming how did my life turn into a Downton Abbey episode?
The Hunt. The traditional Hunt, with red sporting coats and expensive horses and dozens of unruly, delightful hounds scampering around in search of an unsuspecting fox.
Duke came back into the house as The Hunt ran through the back of the land, far enough away that we were safe all along but close enough to remind us that we live a different sort of life. Within minutes, we were laughing about our fortunes and misfortunes. I knew I had to tell this story on A Wellington Life, to start the new year off the way I intend to continue – with interesting stories about our funny life.
And so we began as we mean to go on.