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You know what you almost never hear uttered by a guy these days ... "Hey! I'm turning 60 soon. Let's go get a puppy!"
Not that I uttered that, but it sounded funny in my head, so I thought I would type that up for you guys to make you laugh ... you're welcome.
The truth of the matter is at the beginning of last fall, I accidentally told my wife on a Saturday, during college football season (the most wonderful time of the year next to Christmas) that we should go look at this litter of puppies on a farm in Everett. I was not drunk. I was not drugged. No guns were involved. I got caught up in the moment of the college football season mixed with the fall foliage and other things.
Plus, my wife is still gorgeous to me, so that was also a part of the equation.
You have to understand, the woman never asks for anything. For her birthday, I'll ask her what she would like and she usually just says "Nothing. Let's just go out to eat."
When my birthday hits in May, there are lists sometimes strategically placed in every room, including the bathroom, as to what I want. According to Facebook, the bathroom is the new phone booth of the 21st century.
She wanted to get another dog. We lost our one dog, Daisy, a week before Christmas in 2023. We were left with Huckleberry, our other dog, whom I was perfectly content to have as an only dog. You know why I love him? He goes to the bathroom only twice a day: when he wakes up in the morning and before he goes to bed at night. He eats twice a day. He sleeps the rest of the time in front of the TV with the family. If a man can have a dog as a role model, he would be mine.
Our daughter, Julianna, alerted Ann Marie of the story of a pure basset hound that just gave birth to eight puppies on this farm. She told Ann Marie to go down there and help out this lady whose place had everything from dogs to cats, to horses and cows, sheep, ducks and even peacocks, which I thought were very cool, but not cool enough to bring home.
But it's hard to get out of your car down an old dirt road, and have eight puppies and their mom come bouncing out of a red barn towards your car and not get one. It was right out of a Disney movie.
I never had a chance.
If my wife had the money, a bigger house -- and somebody else as her husband -- I think she would have brought home more than just one puppy. I also believe there have been days where she would have traded me in for a few puppies, but leaving me on a farm would be as useless as a Pitt Panther souvenir shop on Beaver Avenue in State College.
We went down on a Saturday. We went back on a Wednesday and came home with Finn, our new terror. He was about 3 months old. It became clear rather quickly that I was reliving my days when my four kids were all babies. That was really hard work, but they were my kids. This dog is not my kid, even though he does sometimes listen to me better than they did.
You can't leave anything on the floor or he chews it up. Nothing on the refrigerator because he will tear it off ... and chew it. Nothing on the bed ... the chew thing.
My favorite thing recently involves snow and freezing temps. My wife calls it "turd hockey." You read that right. If we fail to clean up the yard right away, he will go outside and push around .... a you-know-what ... on the frozen snow and chase it back-and-forth. And since ice hockey is my fourth favorite sport, I do not find it cute.
My wife laughs.
Sometimes I chase him through the house to wipe off his paws, which are huge, which you can hear thumping down the hallway's wooden floor while trying to take a nap.
Because the Mrs. leaves for school between 7:30 to 8 a.m., guess who gets up with the puppy after getting home from work at around 1 a.m.? I do make him take a nap on the floor of our bedroom for about two hours at some time in the morning, but hey ... who doesn't want a puppy at 60?
Huckleberry looks at me and just seems to be saying, "I didn't ask for him. That's on you."
But Finn is not going anywhere. We, not me, are taking puppy classes. I asked Ann Marie if it was to learn new ways to torment me. She said no. I want to believe her, but I'm not sure. I gotta believe there will be no puppies at age 70 ... right?