Hail To The Chief
The Love “Shack”
When BF comes home, he likes to make a beeline outside to play in the backyard with the dogs. I always get a brief peck on the cheek as he passes by. This short demonstration of affection I do not mind.
I love to see him interacting with the dogs, and I imagine him playing outside with our future children someday. I also love to watch him step in dog crap and then try to get to the hose as fast as he can to wash it off before he thinks I’ve noticed.
Many a time have I been distracted in the house, only to hear the squeak of the outside faucet come on, and I secretly smile to myself knowing what has likely occurred. Well, yesterday was the most severe occurrence to date.
After a long day at work, BF enters the scene to two rejoicing retrievers. The Messiah has returned. While the maid (me) fixes dinner, the three of them jaunt outside to play fetch. Usually it is me and BF who play fetch…
“Babe, can you bring me some take out?” he beckons.
“Babe, can you hand me the remote?” he asks.
But not today. Frisbees fly and dogs hurl through the air. It was a proud scene. Not as proud as BF was of himself for the green lawn he was growing. He stood tall as he admired his work, courtesy of Triple 13.
As he strolled across the green carpet of Bermuda grass, I stood at the window knowing that it has been a few days since I’ve picked up out there, and it would be just a matter of time. And then it happened… he suddenly walked through a pile of strategically laid mushy brown land mines. Strategically laid by the very mutts that were at the same moment barking his praises.
