Oh…how horrible I am at writing in this thing. I’m trying, I swear.
But not really. It’s not that highly prioritized. After work, I usually find myself sprawled out on my couch watching Dr. Phil reruns while eating copious amounts of pretzels and hummus.
With that said, the health goals are going decently. Occasional slip ups, but everything in moderation. If I want onion rings, I’ll eat them. Damn it. Sometimes the occasion calls for it.
Tomorrow is Father’s Day, so that gives me something to talk about since my dad is pretty much the bee’s knees. He always makes sure that things are working. Whether it be my car or my blow drier, he can fix it.
The best memory I’ve ever had with my dad happened when I was barely six- but remains vivid in my mind, almost as if it happened yesterday. When I was a little one, the only thing I ever wanted was a pet. More specifically, a cat. I remember riding the bus home from school envisioning that one would be waiting for me on my twin-sized bed. But when I rushed up to my bedroom every afternoon, the only cat to be found was one filled with stuffing (which I still have, by the way).
One weekend in early fall, my dad pulled me off to the side and told me that we were going to go get my mom a surprise. I didn’t really question it, so I hopped in the passenger seat of his blue pick-up truck and off we went. We arrived at a building that’s front sign read “humane society,” but I had no idea what the hell that meant. Before getting out of the truck, my dad told me that we were going to get my mom a puppy. At first I thought this was bull shit. I wanted a cat and my mom is getting puppy? But after seeing all those slobbery puppies in their cages, I knew that I could settle with this. After all, it would be my dog, too. We wandered the past the kennels for what seemed like hours. I initially fell in love with a little white furball that barely came up to my knee- but it was mostly because she was the only without poop in her cage. Hey- poop’s gross. Especially when you’re six.
The cotton ball looking dog was the last thing my dad wanted, so he convinced me to look around a little bit more. We walked the aisles looking at the pups as if we were in a store deciding on cereal, except this cereal barked profusely and smelled funny. Except one.
My dad stopped in front of a cage with a homely-looking creature who had no hair on her tail, the markings of a husky and various colors weaved throughout her fur. Sitting quietly starring up at us with her big brown eyes. My dad immediately fell in love. She was undoubtedly the one.
After a few complications, (apparently all the humane society’s dogs are meant to be indoor, but a little fibbing never hurt one) we nestled our new pet in the middle seat and set off for Grandma’s to show her off. My dad asked me, “what are you going to name her?” Within two minutes of deliberation, I decided on Clue. You see- I was really big into the Mary Kate and Ashley mystery detective episodes at the time, and their basset hound was named Clue. Unoriginal, but it suited her well.
She loved her sprinkler. And our garden. Her all-time favorite food was green beans.
For the next 15 years, Clue trained us. She became the glue to our family. I miss her every day.
Happy Father’s Day. I’ll be enjoying my daddy-daughter time tomorrow at my parent’s.