doghouse

Doghouse digs

There’s a reason that a dog is a man’s best friend, and it’s not that we smell alike.

Well, okay, maybe we do.

But it’s more because oftentimes we both share the same house. And I’m not talking about the one with a kitchen and running water.

We guys get in trouble for the stupidest stuff.

Case in point. My teenager was across the street at her best friend’s house. It was a school night, and she knew lights-out is at 11:00. So one minute after I waited in righteous anger at the front door, ready to pounce.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m battling to keep my eyes open.

Not wanting to phone across the street, because I don’t wake up any adults that might have sensibly gone to bed, I threw on a coat and tromped outside.

Then I tromped back in and grabbed an umbrella because it was raining like hell.

Then I tromped back outside, wind whipping up my shorts and rain pelting sideways like a mutant mini-hurricane.

Three minutes later we’re back in my house, and I’m having a patient conversation with her, complete with bulging eyeballs, veins standing out from my neck.

She’s warding me off by rolling her eyes like ‘Dad, you’re so stupid, and I’m just pretending to listen while I’m really humming that new song by Twobuckrapalot, and I’m not learning anything here and I’m telling you this by rolling my eyes at you.”

I could yell at her for what she’s thinking, but we’ve had circular arguments about my mind-reading ability in the past that have all ended in a draw, with her winning because it ended in a draw.

So I vented and spewed, and went to bed muttering to myself.

Here’s where the stupid happened.

The next day I went swimming.

I’m usually home in an hour and a half.

But that night I got into a zone. If you’ve played sports, you know what I mean by a zone. Like you’re out in the yard shooting hoops, and one day everything goes in. You can’t miss. Fifty-foot swish. Reverse lay-up. Bomb from half-court. Everything drops. When this day happens, you don’t stop. You shoot until you exhaust the zone and wear out every single swish.

Dinner’s ready? Forget it. Swish. Dallas Cheerleader walks by. Forget it… well, maybe a glance, then swish.

But you aren’t done shooting until the zone is gone.

Well, it happened to me that night. I swam like a croc, the waves parted before me like the Red Sea for Moses. I swam and swam until the zone was used up.

Four hours later, I went home.

Unfortunately my wife heard every word I said to my teenager. And repeated every single word back to me that night.

Doghouse? Don’t give me that. I’m the man of the house, you got it?

I mean, get real. Throw me a bone, okay?

Hmm, rawhide.

Smells good.

Okay, maybe just a nibble.