There is a country club on our street that usually has fireworks, open to the public, on or around July 4. The temporary no parking signs that appeared on the street clued us in that they were happening today. Earlier in the evening, we walked over to see this place where we have never ventured in several years of living here.
It must have been "Kevin's" 50th birthday bash, because a bunch of beautiful people in sundresses and golf shirts with beautiful children were attending an outdoor party while a plane overhead flew a banner that read, "Happy 50th Birthday Kevin, we love you."
I am not kidding.
While we walked past the outdoor driving range (still unsure of whether someone was going to out us as an uninvited guest to this gig), some of the people who were driving golf balls (country club members, party guests??) noticed a baby deer about 100 yards from the tees.
Then, these same people (a mix of male adults and boys) all teed up, aimed their clubs at the baby deer, and took their best shots at trying to hit the animal.
Aaah, there is nothing that makes me feel more proud of my country than seeing a bunch of privileged assholes try to hit baby deer with golf balls.
So now, it sounds like Dresden circa February 1945 with a commercial grade fireworks display exploding over our house while the dogs (especially Alex) fret over the commotion.