John Wayne

The funniest man I know is my Dad. He is a complete corn ball. Every Christmas we share a joke. “Do you know what happened to the cat that crossed the desert?” Answer: “It got Sandy claws”. It’s a classic. “Do you want a roll?” Answer: “Get down on the floor and roll.”

He’s also the guy that you go to if you want a puppy. He’s a sucker for puppies. He’ll blame Mom or me or a myriad of other people around him, but he is the culprit for bringing more dogs into our family than any other person. And they rule his world. After Mom of course. Last fall when he was hospitalized he gave me instructions for giving the dogs pills. “The vitamin C for Becky gets wrapped in cheese, not salami. Bear likes his in salami, not cheese. Sam doesn’t get vitamin C but gets the blue pill in the cheese, salami combination.” I have this wrong of course and Dad will let me know what the correction is shortly after this publication. His world is run by routine and thereby, so is ours. Shoes are polished Sunday nights. Clocks are wound Sunday morning at 9:10 because that’s the optimal hand position for winding clocks. I used to describe him as John Wayne which is still not too far off the mark but there is a strong sentimental side showing as of late. Dog movies, regardless of whether or not they are sad, make him cry. When Dad cries, we all cry. I mean, how could you not cry when John Wayne cries?

So John Wayne is in the hospital again this evening after having fallen from a ladder trying to hang up his University of Michigan flag. Michigan is in the final four and that is reason to celebrate. Tonight when I arrive home late, I will bend down to listen to Sadie and Vegas say their puppy prayers. I will embrace them and let their sloppy kisses wash away the scared feelings I pretend not to have but they can smell.

One paw at a time.