My weekend was a country song. I'm no poet, nor a songwriter, but the events and emotions of the weekend would really make a good country song.

After a stop at a doughnut shop and a ride on the Prairie highway in a 1 ton dually I found out I need surgery. I know that, have known it since I wrecked my knees last year, but the surgeon is finally willing to schedule the first one.

We broke out the chainsaw to remove some trees at my Mom's place. Many have needed to go for years and my Dad was quite hung up on getting it done. So Hubby brought up his chainsaw and the family gathered for a heck of a lot of tree chopping.

My sister turned 40! We celebrated by chopping down trees with a chainsaw. And we gave her the quilt that we worked on in secret (more on that quilt another day).

There is a new baby in the family. A gorgeous, happy little baby boy to cuddle, tease, and laugh with. He is little brother to Hubby's little brother's first son. Cuddling him was about the most perfect thing in the world for me this weekend.

My dog died. Buster aka Bustamonte aka Damn Black Dog never woke up on Saturday morning. The big galoot was happy and playing with the kids on Friday, chillin' at my feet at the end of the night. He was healthy, as far as we knew, and not that old. And Saturday morning he was gone, having died in the night at the foot of the bed where my Dad used to sleep.

We toasted the Damn Black Dog/drowned our sorrows at a bar called The Beer Hunter. 'Nuff said.

Then there was that whole killing the big terrorist thing, but I had nothing to do with that.

Surgeons, chainsaws, births and birthdays, secret US military missions, and a dead dog. Yup, that's a country song for sure.