My Life As A Hobby

  Hey Joe! This is your dog Roscoe.  It’s hard to believe it’s been over 6 years since you picked us up from the side of the highway. That’s a real long time for us, so I thought it might be a good time to tell you exactly what happened.  My sister, the one you call Reese, and I were just a couple of little puppies, who loved to be around our mama. She never said a whole lot about her past except that a very bad person dumped her out on a county road while we were in her tummy.  Lucky for us, a very kind person took her in, let her deliver me and all my littermates, and found everyone good homes - except for me and my sister. We were going to stay with the nice person’s family, along with our mommy. I think that’s called a forever home.  We were so happy. The family even had a little girl who loved to play with us! Everything was great until mama took a walk to explore the woods near our house, and we went along.  We followed our mama everywhere. This ...

  I stood outside the shower, naked, wet, and confused. That’s because my wife bellowed from the bathroom door, “Hey, stop! You can’t do that!” My first thought was, can I get in trouble for just taking a shower? Apparently. So, I responded by asking the question that any sensible person would ask: “What did I do?” She growled at me like I had put sulfuric acid in the washing machine. “I’ve told you before - do not dry off with our good towels.” During the course of our marriage, we’ve had heated arguments about some idiotic things. And this was shaping up to be another one of them. I didn’t care - I wasn’t willing to let this go without a fight, because I had logic and reason on my side.  Let’s get ready to rumble! Round one was about to begin.  Before the verbal sparring started, I’ll be honest: I have heard her admonitions before. A few weeks ago, she threatened to put sugar in my gas tank when she caught me stuffing one of her precious towels into my gym bag. Than...

  It all began with a trip to an orthopedic doctor to see if he could do something to eliminate my lower back pain. And it could’ve turned into me potentially becoming part of medical history.    Let me explain. After the obligatory x-rays and 40 minute wait in the examination room, the doctor finally came in with the x-rays in hand.   “So where’s the pain?”, he asked.  I responded, “well it began right here.” And I pointed to the left side my lower back, and said it keeps going right along where a tramp stamp would be.” For those of you that aren’t  all cool and hip like me (and don’t have a young daughter-in-law to explain things like this), a tramp stamp is a tattoo that runs the length of the lower back, just above the panty line. It’s actually a quite descriptive and very accurate term.  The physician, a younger chap, exploded into laughter.  “I’ve never, ever, heard that part of your body called that.” he gushed.  “Well, whe...

At first glance it wasn’t much of a gift. Just a cheap pocket knife, made out flimsy metal and plastic. It probably came from a flea market or an arcade game at a pizza parlor.  Yet of every gift I received at my surprise fortieth birthday party, it was this one that had the most meaning to me.  In a roundabout way it reminds me of a crow. Crows are known to give humans “gifts” to show their affection . Sparkly things like a shard of glass, a tab from a soda can, or a bright colored piece of yarn. While these may be of little significance to us, the crow believes it’s something of high value. So it was with this pocket knife.  To the giver of this gift, my then eight year-old son Brad, it was a valuable piece of his life he gave to me on a significant occasion, the celebration of my fortieth trip around the sun.  I loved it, not so much for what it was, but who gave it to me and why.  I recall the gift giving portion of the party clearly. When his time cam...