Watched one of my favorite fighters get absolutely whomped on last night at UFC - not so keen - but aside from a backache from lifting dogs and pianos yesterday, it's been a nice, quiet, mellow day.
Lifting dogs? Yep. See, there's this thing in Plano called "KERPLUNK." Doesn't stand for anything but "Oh My God That's a Lot Of Dogs Running Around a Swimming Area." I guess OMGTLDRASA doesn't roll off the tonuge as easy, though. We took Lily to see what she'd think and how she'd do. I was a little curious as to how exactly the City of Plano was going to control that many dogs running around a swimming pool, but turns out the solution is pretty easy:
They don't. Utter doggy pandemonium.
To my surprise, though, that many dogs and owners in the same area - and there were easily sixty, seventy dogs there - were getting along pretty well. Yes, there were occasional scuffles, but for the most part, dogs were getting along just fine. Small dogs, big dogs, tiny dogs, HUGE dogs. All kinds of dogs. There's something amusing about seeing a puntable-sized football dog touching noses with a big shaggy German Shepherd.
Lily was amazed. Never seen so many dogs before. Turns out our dog that loves the lake won't get into a pool with a bazillion other dogs around unless you bodily drag her in. We managed to coax her into the pool once with a lot of urging, but the rest of the time, we had to haul her in ourselves. A lot of my nerves about her behavior, though, proved to be absolutely unfounded. She ran around, she sniffed, avoided water like the plague, chased tennis balls, goofed off, and generally had a great time. Was an amazingly well-behaved very young dog, as she always seems to be....even though I'm always worried she won't be.
Being the overanalytical type that I am, though, I started considering whether or not this lesson applied to other sections of my life. Like, say, fatherhood and my fears about how badly I'll do thereabouts. I've always worried that due to the highly unusual nature of my own parental upbringing that I'd be ten kinds of weird at it myself. That I'd do something hideous and scar the child forever without intending to, or deeply anger Amy, or something else soul-scarring. I dunno. Maybe a little more optimism goes a long way.
Maybe I'll "man up" and not freak out or pass out on delivery day. I always did well under stress before now, I guess.
Maybe I'll be the kind of dad I want to be, supportive, understanding, firm, fair, fun - I mean, I don't go postal on my students, right? That's how they describe me.
Maybe Amy will go big with the Arbonne thing; she's got the skills. Maybe I'll get my book finished this year and get some extra change from that. Maybe the administration thing will work out before my kid's old enough to remember Mom and Dad and the Latchkey Life. Any of those things would work, really. All we need is one.
Despite my fears that I'd somehow become a cheating bastard or a wifebeater, I've apparently done a pretty stellar job at being a husband so far. Maybe I'll continue to not screw that up. God knows why, but Amy STILL seems smitten. (I know, wtf is she thinking, right?)
Maybe I can learn a little something about life from a semi-shy, semi-friendly, twice-abandoned Shepherd/Lab mix who likes to sound like a walrus, and happens to think Amy and I are the best things in the whole darn world.
At least, that's a decent enough message for me to ponder on a perfectly calm, perfectly quiet, perfectly relaxing Sunday afternoon.
Maybe life won't suck after all. Maybe it's worth giving the world a chance to work itself out once in awhile.