Dads

Sometimes I think Dads don't get enough credit. (Yeah, I'm a Dad).

But that doesn't make me a deadbeat. An absentee. A weekend Dad. All not very nice, but well publicized. It makes good headlines, I guess. And there's a difference between being a Dad and being a Father. Anyone can be a Father. Not everyone is a Dad.

I listened to a friend today talk about his Dad. In front of a packed house. He talked about the one theme that keeps popping up in my blog. Time. The one thing we can't get enough of. That we can't change––OK, daylight savings excluded––no matter how many things we do to our body. He talked about spending time with his Dad. He talked about the time he's going to miss. He talked about a good Dad. He was probably a great Dad.

I think we sometimes forget Dads are human. Just like Moms. I've always believed that you're really an adult when you realize your parents are human. They make mistakes. They don't know everything. They have fun. (I'll leave it at that. I can hear Kaity ringing the therapy cash register). And we Dads do screw up all the time. We don't have an instruction book. Not that we would read it, anyway. So we're making most of this shit up as we go along. Then we learn what works and doesn't work and go from there. Some scary stuff, huh?

But that's OK. Because we Dads come in all sizes, colors, shapes, price ranges and geographic regions. And we are tough. My Dad has had more close encounters of the death kind than any human should have. From heart attacks to cancer. So every time I talk to him, I want to make sure it's a good one. Good Dads are hard to come by.

So they say.

A Dog's Life

I have three dogs. So I guess you could say I'm a dog lover.

Pets have a way of becoming an important part of your family––even if it's just you and them. I've had dogs most of my life. Baby. Gypsy (Teresa's dog, actually). Ricky. Malcolm. Roxi. And now, Tedi, Lola and Barnaby. Lola and Barnaby are rescue dogs. OK Greg, what's the deal with writing about dogs? A lot of people don't even like dogs or have never had one as a pet. But then again, no one but me has Tedi.

Tedi is the biggest Cockapoo our vet has ever seen. He's the mellowest, kick back dog I have ever seen. He hangs out with everyone. He doesn't bark very often or whine. He doesn't get in the trash. He doesn't dig. So what does he do? He loves me. He loves our family. He loves who we love. How do I know? Tedi is one of the reasons I survived cancer. He was there with me the whole time. He laid at the foot of my bed when I couldn't get up. He kissed my face when I looked at him––his love is unconditional.

So why am I writing about Tedi? I thought he was dying Saturday morning. He woke me up about 5:30 AM, trying to get up. His legs weren't working. He was struggling to get up from the floor next to my bed. He was freaking out. He was dying? Teresa and I put him on our bed. I had to piss like a racehorse––hey, I just woke up and that's what I always do when I first wake up––and while I was in the bathroom, Teresa carried Tedi down stairs. (Tedi weighs about 40 lbs). I had no idea what to do. We had no idea what to do, except make sure Tedi didn't die. 

Now Tedi isn't an old dog––he's 5––and he's as healthy as they come. But his heart was racing, he was drooling and he was fighting us to get up, as we both were holding him down and making sure he wasn't having a heart attack or a stroke or whatever was happening to him. We gave him water by hand, which he sort of licked up. We were trying to calm him down. I started to pray. I couldn't loose Tedi. He couldn't die. Not now. Not in my arms. Not today. He did calm down a bit and went outside to "do his business." He seemed OK. Until he fell down again. I ran to get him and he fell on his back. He looked like he was dying.

Tedi never cried or yelped or whined. But he did do one thing that I'll never forget. He looked at my eyes. He gave me a kiss on my cheek. And most important of all, he lived. In fact, he lying at my feet as I'm writing this post. I think he knows I'm writing about him. I think he's the best dog, ever. I can't think about yesterday without almost tearing up. I know he's only a dog.

But he's my dog. And his life has made my life so much better.