The dogs are usually hyper alert to things outside. Their beds are by the window and Belle in particular sits and gazes out all day long. When either one of them sees or hears anything suspicious--a passing cat, someone walking a rival dog past (
Oh no they didn't!) or something really threatening like the UPS truck, a school bus, a garbage truck or their personal nemesis the mailman, they sound off in tandem like it's World War Three.
But last night, they were completely silent as I worked on assembling a dresser in my bedroom. They didn't even react to the drums and the chants outside that finally caught MY ear and made me go look. Sure enough, Murphy was still napping and Belle was casually watching as a dozen Mardi Gras Indians from the 7th Ward's Monogram Hunters paraded right up the street, with half the neighborhood following them.
Excuse the poor quality shots--it was getting dark out and the camera phone wasn't making it happen.
Indian culture is big in "real" New Orleans, beyond the facade that the tourists and those in nice gentrified neighborhoods see. They've been doing it since before WW1, and they work all year on these elaborate suits made of beads and feathers just for Mardi Gras, St. Jospeh's Day and "Super Sunday", which was supposed to have been this past Sunday but will now be this coming Sunday due to bad weather last week-end. This tribe is the 7th Ward Monogram Hunters, one of the oldest tribes. Several of my neighbors are members.
This probably explains why the watchdogs did not bark--they knew it was our own tribe passing by. At least that's the excuse I'm making for their lazy asses today.
Come back Sunday for a ton more Indian shots and lore as I'll be up at Super Sunday for that.
Not boring around here...not boring at all.
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