I scream, you scream

...we all scream for ICE CREAM!

Yes, I realize that their faces are covered with blue sidewalk chalk....
That's what happens when
*deep breath*
you are Indians who are living in the woods, when all of a sudden, pirates who want to burn your village arrive and burn your village, except you escape on a boat and go to an island far, far away and hide with all your worldly possesions, belatedly discovering that you forgot to take provisions (food, especially) and have to travel to the main fort to beg for

ice cream!

(That was more or less the story I got when the grubby natives arrived on my deck.)

Twilla, trying her very best to be a good dog....

Indians drop parts of their ice cream cones, sometimes, in places too small for hungry dogs to reach, even with 6 inch noses. (Think of that little squirrel in Ice Age, who was always j-u-s-t a little short of the acorn...same kind of desperation, here.)

Eh...we don't need no stinkin' napkins...

Dang.
The cat formerly known as Cap'n Barbosa (re-named Elizabeth, but called Fat Kitten) IS small enough to scavenge, to Twilla's huge dismay!

We've had unseasonably warm days, lately.  The kids have discarded shoes and couth, and are running wild outside as many daylight hours as they can!

*Note for all the grandmothers and germ-i-phobes: I DID make them wash their hands with soap and water.  They weren't happy about it.  Apparently, according to them, Indians don't waste time on soap and water when there's ice cream to be had....