The story of how my parents ended up with their new dog, (George) Lucas is kind of interesting. The problem being that I am not entirely sure how to start the story. Veronica’s aunt ended up with a dog that every single person seemed to want, but no one wanted it living with them. I tend to think that this is the story with most puppies, as they are 95% energy, 4% idiot, and 1% nap. As with most things that have a hard time finding a home, or a place that they belong, Lucas managed to find his way to my parents’ house—because I assume that is just a real world example of The Land of Misfit Toys but with more drinking and maple syrup.
Gathering the dog from Veronica’s aunt’s house was done with the expected chaos of anything dealing with a puppy, the animal didn’t know if it wanted to attempt an escape for freedom or to tackle both me and the aunt in an attempt to have its head scratched again. That is fine, although though the one thing that Lucas did know that he wanted was to not get into my car for any reason besides forcefully being carried in—which now that I think about it kind of explains the rest of the trip.
Veronica’s work is less than 20 minutes from the acquisition point of the dog, which is good to know because by the time that I got there I also had a rather large pile of dog vomit in the back to add to the aroma now found in my car. I love my wife but the last thing that I need in a confined space with an animal that thinks doing laps and vomiting on my backseat is a good time would be 85 pounds of flowers that the dog continued to find endlessly interesting—also, no, they didn’t take away from the dog vomit smell.
So here I am, driving two and a half hours north. In the backseat of the car a dog that cannot sit still for more than 10 minutes at a time and who needs to vomit every 45 minutes to an hour just to make sure there is an even amount on both sides of my car. In the way back there are enough flowers and odds and ends that my wife thought my mom may like to partially obscure my vision, also a dog that is interested enough that it needs to be told to stop climbing up to either eat or smell whatever is in the back—and a fear that it may throw up while it is checking everything out and kill me due to recently created, and floral related, blind spots. The great thing is that most of the events line up in such a way that I got moments of calmness that let me think the drama was over, just in time for the dog to vomit when I magically happen to be in the middle of traffic.
The reason that I made this adventure to deliver a dog to my parents is that it was my father’s birthday. It wasn’t that this was my father’s birthday present, more that what little I know of the man is that he doesn’t do well without a dog in his life and it didn’t seem right to let him go through a birthday without one. Also I think that it was one of the first times ever that I have seen my father completely forget that he had children.
My parents are some of the only people I have ever met in the world that I never questioned their deep desire to own children. It seemed like they honestly enjoyed my brother and I, for the most part, and were always happy with us pretty much regardless of what we did. Because of this I have always known that I was loved, even if I didn’t get why besides those adult people in charge were weird. The reason I am explaining this is that my father completely ignored me when I first arrived with the dog—please keep in mind that I was the one driving the car at the time and was sitting directly in front of it.
It happened like this:
I pulled into my parents’ driveway and my father came out to greet me, something that he pretty much never does unless he knows we are bringing something stupid tasty and food related or my car is on fire—neither one of these was the case as both could be overturned with the pool sized amount of dog vomit I had. When I stopped the car I said something along the lines of, “Happy Birthday Weekend,” to which I garnered no response besides my dad walking to my car and crawling in the back seat to play with the dog. Around that point it seemed that I ceased to exist in his eyes for a couple of minutes.
Now I am not trying to make fun of my father, but it was one of the rare instances in an adult’s life that they get to see what one of their parents was probably like when they were a child. Bringing my father Lucas caused him to revert into a five year old and get pretty close to giggling because he was so happy. I think the closest that I have ever seen him get to this before was when a grandchild started to show interest in trucks, and even then he kept his wits about him enough to make sure neither one of them ate paste. It was nice knowing that I had done something nice enough for my father to completely make him lose focus for a bit.
Of course the one thing that my dad does when you get him something that he really likes, besides read the manual cover to cover, is call all of his friends to brag. This was one of the rare events that seemed to warrant the rarely seen pre-call when all of the rednecks had been warned around what time I was going to show up if they wanted to see a puppy.
On thinking about it the worst part of all of this is that I didn’t even really arrange any of this, it was all Veronica. So I guess we can all thank her for making my dad giddy. Also I will blame her when he starts eating things that my parents like, or my brother’s snowboarding helmet.