Growing Pains

Well, I've really fallen off the wagon. Though I've peppered our blog with a rare post here or there, the only communication I've had with...whoever you are...in the past few months has been in the form of dog videos. Apologies on that front.

Tonight I wanted to let you know that there are very few things in life that can accurately prepare you for the complete devastation that results from a simple (though strangely expensive) growth removal followed by an unfortunately shaped plastic hood. Let me be the first Ewald to tell you - it really is something.

Our brave beagle, and as you know star of many films, had a small surgery today on her left eye. The remainder of her, and our, day has been spent relearning things like: Walking, smelling, drinking water, and laying down. And I'm sure some of you can appreciate the mix of feelings here: You feel terrible for a loved one's pain; though you can't help but chuckle just a little in the awkwardness (and to be fair, the plastic itch shield is pretty damn funny).

Many of you know that I have a knack for talking to kids. For those who don't, I'm the type of guy who encounters a 4-year-old playing with chalk at her parents barn doubling as an antiques shop. She, in little kid voice, says "Hiiiii..." My natural, unfortunately true and automatic response: "Nice weather we're having eh?"—A response I've justifiably yet to live down.

When a 4-year-oldish girl playing in the park saw Patsy this evening, she rushed over to investigate the hooded beagle. Her empty look begged for further explanation from the adult (me). Now, I'm one who learns lessons in life. Where previous girls may have gotten the small talk, this innocent, inquisitive person was met with a "Eh - what the hell can you do" shrug of my shoulders.

It was the first time that I ever wanted a cigarette for effect.

It could have been perfect: The dirty white t-shirt; the long, slow drag; dismissive exhale; and walking the hooded dog back into my house. I could have redeemed my nice weather with life's a bitch. I could have gone out in style as that creepy 32-year-old slightly bearded, yet still reclinerless neighbor. . .

Some dreams come true, and some don't. In the short term, tonight our brave beaglegirl dreams of the day she will be free again. That day will someday come. And I promise to be on this bloggin' wagon to tell you all about it.