Hank & Me

John Grogan, the dude who penned Marley & Me, is a genius … not because he is some brilliant writer or some amazing storyteller, but because he took everyday tales of his neurotic dog, turned them into a complete work, and made millions. And the truth is, if you have ever had a pup, you could have done the same. Well, at least, I think I could have.

In January of 2008, I had the bright idea to adopt a puppy. The result: Hank. When I first saw his photo, I knew he was the one I wanted, and the deal was definitely sealed when I came face-to-face with the little butterball. (Oh, if you’re wondering, Hank is a Basset Hound/Lab mix … not really sure how that happened.)

Anyway, the first few weeks together were quite interesting and quite the adjustment … at least on my end. I had grown accustomed to coming and going as I pleased. I was a single twentysomething and ate and drank of life. Then all of a sudden, I had this creature who pooped and peed where he pleased and cried and screeched through all hours of the night. On top of all of this, Hank constantly sought my attention (and still does) and constantly chewed and gnawed on anything he found interesting (again, still does).

In the beginning, our time was spent in a small, studio apartment. Almost daily, I would think to myself, It will get better once we are in a house and have a yard. I was wrong. The bigger space, the one-acre lot, and the family-friendly neighborhood have only added fuel to Hank’s fire. Since May of last year, Hank has jacked up my lawnmower … twice, ravaged the weed eater, escaped and chased many a walker, exasperated the neighbor’s cats, … OK, you get it — this could go on forever.

At this point, for those of you who don’t have a pet, you’re probably thinking that I hate my dog. And, honestly, I do sometimes. Hank can annoy me and frustrate me like none other. But, then, I’ll catch a glimpse of him doing something hilarious or cute, and all is well. He’s definitely not a well-trained dog, but we have fun together. I love our boxing matches, and I love our games of hide-and-seek. I love his insane excitement and barking when I say the name “Obama.” (Yes, Hank is a Democrat, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.) And, of course, I love his curiosity, his loyalty, and his companionship. All this to say, I honestly cannot imagine life without Hank, but I’m pretty sure LC can.    

 

    

thirtysomething?

So there I was, celebrating another friend’s 30th birthday. This time around, it was Paul. You see, his sweet girlfriend, Mandy, (there’s your shout-out) gathered together a few high-school buddies to celebrate our friend. So needless to say, I was excited. I was looking forward to catching up and remembering the good ol’ days. And we did. We talked about our jobs, our houses, and their kids. We chatted it up and laughed a whole lot. It was really nice. But about halfway through the evening, I thought to myself, When did our birthday parties morph into subdued dinner parties? When did we grow up? And are we really 30?

The thing is, this wasn’t the first time those thoughts entered my mind. About a week or so before Paul’s shindig, it hit me — I was 30. Between us, I had quite the moment of panic, but after a talk with LC, my rapper friend, Lil’ La La, and a few other kids, I got a grip and pulled through. But as I looked around the table that night at Paul’s party, I wondered, When did Blake become a lawyer? And when did Talley become such a serious, level-headed man? And when did Scott (a.k.a. “Sweet Daddy”) have a kid? And when did I end up with a big-boy job, a mortgage, a yard, bills, and a dog? It seems just like yesterday that we were cruising the strip in Smithville, burning up the roads between Pizza Inn, McDonald’s, and the car wash. What happened to my primed, not painted, Nissan truck with the shiny rims? And what about Paul’s fire engine-like truck? And when did we start having nice dinners together instead of piling up at Chrissy’s house or jumping in the lake on a hot summer’s night or egging cars and bashing … OK, it’s probably a good thing that we stopped some of that, but seriously! The bottom line, when did we become adults?

Alright, enough of that — back to Paul’s party. As the night grew longer, a few us ended up at this high-class establishment off of Highway 109 between Nashville and Lebanon. Much to my surprise, we were all livening up just a bit. We were beginning to get a little more loud and a little more rowdy. I actually caught a glimpse of us back in the day. And then, as Paul, Blake, and myself were belting out “Dixieland Delight” on the karaoke stage, it struck me — I still got it. Heck, we all still got it. And that night, as I laid my head on the pillow, I breathed a sigh of relief. I am 30, and it’s OK … actually, it’s great! And the next morning, I woke up and did yard work.