Bhí sé lá breá samhraidh i mbaile átha cliath, agus bhí an teach mór lán le gártha, gáire, agus boladh deas barbeque.

It was a fine summer day in Dublin, and the large house was filled with laughter, shouts, and the pleasant smell of barbecue.

Bhí Fiona i mbun na hullmhúcháin.

Fiona was in the middle of preparing everything.

Bhí a teach ollmhór lán le ballaí geala agus fuinneoga móra.

Her enormous house was filled with bright walls and large windows.

Sa chlós mór, bhí fearais imeall, troscán clainne, agus ar ndóigh an t-iarann ghrill.

In the big yard, there were garden tools, family furniture, and of course, the grilling iron.

Bhí gach duine ag caint agus ag ithe go fonnmhar.

Everyone was chatting and eating eagerly.

Ach bhí rud amháin nár imigh as a braistint: Sparky.

But there was one thing she couldn't ignore: Sparky.

Bhí an madra ag rith timpeall agus ag déanamh praiseach den chlós.

The dog was running around and making a mess of the yard.

Thosaigh Fiona ag cur damhna ar an grill. Bhí an beagáin amuigh ann. Bhí na píosaí feola go maith agus te.

Fiona started putting the food on the grill. The meat pieces were good and hot.

Ach, gan choimead, thit sí isteach sa chás díreach ar a haghaidh.

But without carefulness, she fell right into the situation face-first.

D’éirigh Sparky contúirteach, beagnach mar dheildhiní, ag leapatróg ag na píosaí feola go brónach.

Sparky became dangerous, almost delirious, constantly pawing sadly at the pieces of meat.

“Tá tú ag cur isteach orm, Sparky!” a deir Fiona, ag iarraidh an grill a choimead ó lámha an madra.

"You're bothering me, Sparky!" Fiona said, trying to keep the grill away from the dog's reach.

Ðárlaigh sinritheach, chonaic aice teistean brostú dar ná é ag dul i ngleic leis.

In a dramatic turn of events, she saw a frantic rush to deal with it.

Bhreáthnigh Liam aici, chuir steip diúl ar a aghaidh, ach tusa shíl siar.

Liam was watching, with a concerned look on his face, but you would have thought otherwise.

“Tá gné aici faoi,” arsa Liam, ag caoineadh géarchor na suíomh.

"She's got something about her," said Liam, lamenting the crisis of the moment.

Bhí an raic ann.

It was chaos.

Sparky ag tiúna gáirí agus Fiona ag iarraidh an t-ord a choimeád.

Sparky was wagging his tail while Fiona tried to maintain order.

Fuair sí Sionnach go barrspriocach di agus ghlaoigh air.

She found the leash and called him.

Rinne an madra ionradh ar an gclós.

The dog charged into the yard.

“Sin é, Sparky! Seo geansaithe, áit i ag suim agat?”

"That's it, Sparky! This jumper, are you interested in it?"

Bhí an madra ag rith chuig an gcluasán, ach díreach sa nóiméad sin, léim sé isteach sa linn.

The dog ran towards the leash, but just at that moment, he jumped into the pool.

Bhris torann mór amach.

A loud noise broke out.

Thosaigh gach duine ag gáire go fríomhar agus bhí Fiona ag magadh go cipíní céanna.

Everyone started laughing wildly, and Fiona was joking just as heartily.

Tháinig an teannas amach go mór.

The tension eased greatly.

Bhí Fiona ag tógáil an suíomh leis.

Fiona was taking control of the situation.

Bhí na seastáin ordanáilte ar siúl.

The stands were in orderly motion.

Agus thart timpeall, bhí scíth aige gemeneise s’éilimid, ag gá sin oscailte.

And all around, there was a respite that generally comes, laughing openly.

“Bhuel,” a dúirt Fiona féin, “ní mór dúinn a bheith ag súil leis an neamhfhoirfeacht. Tá suíomh den scoth.”

"Well," Fiona said, "we have to expect imperfection. The place is excellent."

D’fhéach sí thart ar a clann, ag moladh leis na boinn béithe, agus ba iomaí easpa gurbh’í le haghaidh sí.

She looked around at her family, appreciating the comforting presence, and realized missing out on perfection wasn't so bad.

Ag deireadh an lae, d’fhoghlaim Fiona rud mór.

At the end of the day, Fiona learned something big.

Ní bheadh gach rud foirfe.

Not everything would be perfect.

Agus bhí sin ceart go leor.

And that was perfectly alright.

Bhí lán-chomh cheithre linn a saol i lán féin foirfe.

Their life was completely perfect as it was.

Sin deireadh an scéil.

That's the end of the story.