We’ve gone from no contact in week one, to full contact (snarling, etc.) in week two, and arrived at detente in my canine world in just fifteen days.
The two mutton heads didn’t even acknowledge each other the first five days. The second five days had a few run ins with Stormy letting Edzell know to keep away from her bowl when she was eating. And this morning they both took their treats and flopped down together to eat them.
I’d call that amazing progress for two dogs in two weeks. I’m thoroughly pleased.
I love my wife. She loves me. But after 28+ years she’s trying to fix me more often and I’m not sure I’m really broken.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not exactly a model for GQ. Matter of fact, I’m regularly mistaken for a homeless man and accorded the same suspicion and looks simply based on my clothing choices, wild looking beard, and ever present stocking cap.
Why would this face make anyone nervous?
I almost never donate used clothing to charities: it’s usually too worn out to be accepted.
This has lead to some interesting conversations in high-class establishments. When I ask to see some bauble/gun/electronic device that’s behind the glass the clerks are suspicious. I would be as well. I think the only things that sway them are that I enunciate fairly well and my odor isn’t too profound.
I live by the abiding principle that until the crotch dissapears and the collar has the stays poke through the thing probably has some more life in it. I have shirts older than many college freshmen.
My clothes buying philosophy works like this: Each pair of my old socks that I discover with a hole in it gets chucked in the trash (after careful consideration of whether or not it might prove useful in cleaning guns before disposal.) I will eventually realize that I’m down to 12 mismatched socks and I have to go to Walmart. I then purchase 36 pairs of socks. Same for underwear – one stop shopping at UnderArmor and their lovely outlet page. A week later 9 pairs of compression shorts turn up on the front porch.
Jeans? Why I simply head to Mill’s Fleet Farm and buy 6 pairs of the exact same thing I’ve been wearing for the last 20 years. Put them all in the wash for 3 cycles to get the dye out of them and then rotate them through the laundry until they wear out as well.
Shoes are a little more complicated: I head to Run N Fun and grab 3 pairs of the latest version of my model 1123 sneaker. I always have one unopened box somewhere in my room. Heaven knows New Balance might quit making them and I must be prepared.
Evidently my wife isn’t going with my program any longer. Two weeks ago she presented me with a very nice shirt for Christmas. It was from Cabela’s. She assured me that it was on a deeply discounted sale. It met my requirements in that it had a collar, long sleeves I could roll up, two pockets, and it didn’t have any logos on it that I could see. The shirt had one defect – it wasn’t a Tall. I’m a husky kid (big boned just like Eric Cartman, but a different value sysem) and I need the Tall size in addition to the “fat guy” special width. I’m long in the waist and regular shirts don’t tuck in for me and stay there. It was true when I was skinny, more true now that I try to smuggle watermelons under the shirt.
I kept it, stained it the first time I wore it, and asked her to send the other shirt back. It wasn’t a tall size so I had an excuse. Only one for me!
Yesterday I spotted a big box in the dining room. “What’s in the box, Honey?” Shirts. Eight of them. All in tall, all in my size, five different colors, all the same pattern. On sale.
Saturday morning I went through my closet and retired 3 shirts. It’s all my cheap nature would allow. After all, some of those other shirts are only 10 years old! Lots of life left in them. Maybe tomorrow I can bring myself to part with a few more of them.
And, maybe she’s right. Looking like I’m seeking a free shopping cart and a bridge to live under isn’t very becoming of a fellow who aspires to great things in the literary world. I even bought a suit last year. Could this be the end of me?
So, what’s in your dresser that your spouse hates? Do you have one completely crummy set of clothes that gives your better-half the hives when you wear them? And if not, why not?
The night sky shimmered like the transporter beam of an unseen starship was attempting to pick us up from a frozen Class M planet. Small crystals of ice fog were suspended in the air just above the ground, catching the light of the full moon and providing us with a blanket of sparkling grace.
Clouds of condensed breath wreathed three furry faces. Two of them sought a place to “do their business” and the third watched in bemusement and joy. The night belonged to us, we were the only beings on the face of the Earth for a short time. The highway was silent, there was no noise from the hockey rink, and no aircraft crossed the deep blue sky overhead.
It was cold, well below zero, and only a warm coat kept the three of us from shivering in the pre-dawn darkness. I stood on the steps waiting for my charges to finish. She finished first and ran up the stairs to get her nose rubbed. A nose so small that it vanished in my hand. A nose shorter than my index finger. I sat on the step beside her and looked at her dark brown eyes.
There was no doubt a sadness in my own eyes that mirrored the hesitation in hers. Both of us had experienced loss in the past few weeks. She’d lost the foster home where she was safe and loved. I’d lost the little dog who made me her hero when she came to live with me all those years ago.
This night the two of us were taking some of the first steps toward building our new relationship. I was working hard not to see my old love when I looked at her, and she was obviously wondering if I’d be around longer than the last man in her life. Both of us had a need to make it work regardless of the pain those first steps might cost us.
She sat down next to me on that top step, in the place where Maisie had blessed me for all those years. I could feel the tension in her small frame. She was as nervous as a teenager on a second date. Not sure of what to expect, hoping that it would all exceed the dreams she wouldn’t even admit to herself.
I was nervous as well. Would this girl ever love me the way the last one had? Would those 10 years be singular in my life, or would God bless me with another love to fill that hole in my heart?
The answer wasn’t yet clear. But for a moment under that night sky she allowed me to stroke her small face with my gloved hands. A tender carress, a seeking of limits, an expression of sought intimacy and love. She yeilded to my touch and lowered her head in pleasure.
And for just a second I felt some of the sadness leave the two of us forever.
Neither one of us will heal completely. Life doesn’t accord us that as far as I know. But we both silently agreed to try this new love and see what we could make out of our lives together.
And that’s a love that seems to be growing every day. Thank you, God, for my girl Stormy.
It’s really fun to have a dog that can both see and hear again. Edzell is as deaf as Congress is to tax payers, and he’s going blind. Maisie had mediocre vision but she was so hard of hearing that calling her name was a crap-shoot. Stormy is not only gifted with that great hearing dogs have, but her vision is pretty good as well.
We just got in from the evening trip to visit the bombing range we call the back yard. She spotted/heard/smelled a rabbit across the yard. The rabbit got a surprise – it wasn’t the crippled old sheepdog that they had ignored for years. It was a lightening fast fanged avenger. I think things just changed on the balance of power in the yard.
More on my girl later. I just wanted to get some video up. She’s a treat. And a blessing.
But a question for you: Is there the opening in your heart for a “rescue” that will not only heal them, but heal you? Consider it today. I’m sure glad I did.
Both are people I met at the ACFW conference two years ago. And it was my great pleasure to spend time with them this past year.
Smart, funny, and insightful. They bring a great deal of joy to my day. I love seeing their posts in my email box. (I subscribe to both of them. I don’t subscribe to anyone else.) They always have something interesting to say.
They are different in their content. Larry writes about writing for the most part, sometimes a bit about his world as a Pastor. Rajdeep writes about writing as well, but she covers everything else from tree houses to Broadway shows. Between the two of them I wind up a better person each day. My horizons are broadened and my mind expanded. Which is good, because the only other thing that expands on a regular basis is my waist.
Do you have an author or blogger (really the same thing these days) that you follow faithfully? Is there a secret guilty pleasure blog you read knowing it would shock your friends? I have several like that, but since they are not safe for work or kids I’ll forego the links. (Nothing terrible, but they are military and political blogs with a great deal of “salty” language and the occasional noxious picture.)
If you’re a Christian author/blogger and would like to trade links, let me know via the comment feature on this blog. I’ll scope out your blog and see if we have a match. After all, you already know what I write, it’s only fair that I see what you have to offer.
