Mardi Gras, or something like it.

Sola Rules at Mardi Gras
Note: I should have posted this months ago, but time escapes me.

Interesting fact about Sola – she has eleven nipples. And each one tastes different.

Ok,I made that part up.

Not ten, twelve, or fourteen nipples. Eleven. I’ve looked everywhere and cannot find the stray. Once I felt a bump on her ear and became excited. It turned out to be a bug bite. So I have resigned myself to the odd number.

It’s sad to think that we might not see the real Mardi Gras again for quite some time. We do have our own lame/cute version of Mardi Gras in Vermont, however. In February, when full brain chill has set in, Burlington is deluged with residents of surrounding counties, each vying for a good spot to watch our Mardi Gras parade. To the outside world it’s probable that we look kooky. Thousands of us line the streets, frostbitten, senses dulled by the cold.

And then we go bonkers. A parade begins, and floats of differing shapes, colors and themes make their way up Church Street. Beads and candy fly from the floats at a furious pace. Eyes are poked out by Tootsie Rolls, beads adorn the trees, and the onlookers jump and scream for attention to have a trinket thrown their way. Sola and I assume the position.

The other frozen spectators gasp as I hoist Sola above my head. They watch dumbfounded as beads and candy rain down on her. It only makes sense. To the float pitchers Sola stands out, a beautiful blonde hovering above the crowd, with eleven cold-weather-stimulated pencil erasers pointing to the sky. She flashes with glee as bling and sweets bounce off us. Children surround us to catch our scraps.

And then it’s over.

I’ve never timed the parade, but I doubt that it lasts an hour. The streets empty as Sola, Mrs. Author and I struggle under the weight of our treasure. We are greeted with the angry stares of those carrying little. Laughter erupts among us, and we are certain that next year’s parade will bring us another victory.

Yes, Sola might be missing a nipple, but I love her just the same. She’s my Mardi Gras ringer. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish assembling my bead curtain…

Nigel: Odd number of nipples for an odd dog.

Sola: Knock it off Nigel. You want me.