Over the years, people have told me, “You should write a book!”  

Often in response to some Real Life story I have told on Facebook. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever write a book.

I did, however, recently muse with my husband that maybe someday I will gather the things I’ve written here, organize them, and self-publish one.  If nothing else, to create a keepsake for my family.  Besides the documents that eventually turn into blog posts, I also have a file box containing other writing I’ve never published anywhere.  Between those two collections, I know I could amass enough material to do something like that. 

Especially since Real Life continues to faithfully hand me new material. 

This platform and the no-rules way with which I get to approach writing here allow me to use more words and to dive way deeper than I ever could in any Facebook post.  I love that. 

I write some more serious things here, but please make no mistake:  The often-ridiculous-yet-ultimately-entertaining sort of things that have provided the basis for those “you should write a book” Facebook comments?  They are as alive and well in my life as ever. 

Why don’t I tell you about a few recent ones right now? 

As you read, please notice three themes:  My daughter, our 2021 maiden voyage, and our puppy. 

Have you ever considered that sometimes our real strength is born in our weakness?  I have. 

I mean it in the most loving way when I say that I see that in my daughter. 

I trust her more than almost anyone else I know.  I can (and do!) put her in charge of such a variety of things with absolute confidence that she will handle them thoughtfully and thoroughly. 

Part of what makes her so great at handling just about anything is the level of anxiety she carries at almost all times about what could go wrong.  When things really do go wrong, since she has already pictured it in her mind, she handles it almost like she has done it before.  That part, I guess I can explain.  What I cannot explain is why, when things go wrong, they have such a tendency to do so in front of her!

Take, for instance, our first boat ride of 2021:

Setting the scene, I should mention that, where we live, 80-degree weather had abounded for weeks prior to Memorial Day.  Yet the holiday weekend rolled in cold and rainy, with temperatures only in the 50’s. 

We always hold that “unofficial start to summer” loosely - as an unofficial goal for getting a boat into the water for the season.  Some years it works out.  Many years it does not.  This year, we felt especially hopeful about it.  My husband had just finally brought home the boat that he has considered his “ideal” for at least the past 16-years.  He works so hard.  It made us all happy to see him get something he has truly wanted.  Incidentally, upon seeing it, the rest of us ended up liking it a whole lot, too.  So, the anticipation of getting it into the water to enjoy ran like a common thread through us all. 

Meteorological curveball notwithstanding, we ended up making the spur-of-the-moment decision late that Saturday afternoon to go for it.  After layering on coats and hats, six of us, plus Drake (my son’s 7-month-old black lab who already knew that he really loves boats) hopped aboard. 

Well… five of us, plus Drake, hopped… One of us carefully stepped.  …With a slight limp. 

Remember a few weeks ago when I told you about my husband’s brand-new hip? 

The timing of that important bit of titanium entering our lives caused us some concern about his ability to safely step onto a bobbing vessel at all this summer.  He’s tough, though, and determined.  Having far outpaced every step of his expected recovery timeline to that point, he felt ready to do it – albeit carefully.    

So, all bundled up, we shoved off!  It felt wonderful to get back out there! 

The boat handled and rode like a dream.  The space perfectly and comfortably accommodated all of us.  Including Drake, who behaved like he was born for that life.  (Because he was…)  

My son takes Drake for rides on his duck boat almost every day, regardless of weather.  He also lets him swim.  Considering how well he had behaved on his first ride on a new boat full of people, everyone agreed he deserved the reward of jumping in and swimming that day, too. 

One giant (cold!) splash later, in his glory, he paddled his webbed paws and swam away from us.

Right toward…

The six of us aboard watched as he paddled in the direction of a patch of twisted vines dangling into the river beneath a leaning tree.  Absently, we assured ourselves that “no way” would he swim right into that. 

Until he did. 

Then, that he wouldn’t get stuck.

Until he did. 

He paddled harder - in circles. 

Freeing himself?  Further tangling himself?  Who could know? 

On the boat, concern began to rise.  For everyone except my son, who apparently felt confident in his dog. 

I can only imagine that my daughter had already pictured just such a scenario, because her concern instantly morphed into something that sounded very akin to panicked anger when Drake’s wet spiky little head dipped below the water’s surface. 

“Get him before he drowns!” When she issued that directive to her brother:  She meant it. 

It all happened so quickly, yet my son peeling off all his layers of clothing in preparation to cannonball to Drake’s rescue seemed to take forever.  Finally, down to a quilted flannel jacket and his “Flaming Hot Cheetos” boxer briefs, and reaching up to remove his hat, he yelled back at his sister, “See?  He’s FINE!  I told you all along he was FINE!”  

(He would later admit about Drake: “That has to be the worst decision he has ever made!”)

Drake, having successfully freed himself, paddled eagerly back to the boat.  Heart rates began to normalize. 

Every person aboard would have jumped into that cold river rather than let him drown. 

But once it became clear he was in no danger, so did the humor of the situation. 

My son-in-law thought to capture a quick video.  It features a soaking-wet Drake climbing back aboard - to my son in his flannel jacket and his underwear, and my husband remarking, “At least we all got to see your gutchies!” 

Then, we cruised home and peacefully disembarked, right? 

Wrong.

Remember:  The new boat and the new hip had just taken maiden voyages. 

Although we have secured many other boats in our dock slip, we had never yet moored this boat.  With each different boat comes a different process. 

Upon landing, we all sprung to individual action as usual.   My daughter stepped off the boat and onto the dock to do her share.  My husband stood on the port side gunnel and reached for her hand, prepared to carefully step off. 

It so happens that the starboard side crew, engrossed in doing their share with this boat for the first time, didn’t realize that.  Just as he (and his brand-new hip) planted one foot on the dock with the other still on the boat, they began to tighten their lines…

Have you seen the movie Elf?  Do you remember the escalator scene?  Picture that. 

THAT is what the moment looked like.  Only, with my wild-eyed daughter white-knuckling her dad’s hand and shouting to nobody in particular, “GET THE BOAT!!”

All’s well that ends well.  The crew reacted.  He made it off, no worse for the wear. 

I might have spouted off the “Elf” comparison just a bit inappropriately soon – but when I did, shared hilarity at the entire situation ensued.   

My poor, traumatized daughter.  If, after that day, she never got onto a boat with us again – who could blame her?  (Footnote:  She already has.  I think we’re good…)  

That concludes two-thirds of today’s themes:  My daughter and our first boat ride. 

One theme remains ongoing: 

Drake.

This week, my son set off on yet another long-anticipated adventure.   

Therefore, this week, that makes Drake my boy. 

He’s a little older now, and more accustomed to sometimes being my boy than when you first met him in Dear God, My Puppy Ate My…

We have gotten along just fine, and pretty uneventfully.

Except that one morning…

When in charge of Drake, I believe I watch him as diligently as a grandparent watches a grandchild.  I love him a whole lot.  I would never let anything hurt him on my watch. 

So then, why and how does he always seem to find a way to try to die with me in charge? 

A couple of mornings ago, he and I began the day with our usual morning routine:  A stroll outside so that he could take care of business, watch the birds a little, and burn some energy before breakfast.  We greeted a few morning walkers along our trail, then headed back to the house just like any other morning. 

Until, in one powerful lunge against his leash, he grabbed something.    

Instinctively reacting with my most powerful yank of the leash, I flipped him around to see what. 

To my absolute revulsion, I saw a warty brown TOAD sticking out of his mouth! 

(If you happen to have been among the morning walkers who saw me all pleasant one minute, then heard me SCREAMING, “Drake!  DROP IT!!” the next?  Well… now you know!)  

I estimate that the entire episode lasted no more than 5-seconds. 

Heart racing, skin crawling, I ran him back to the house - yelling at him all the way. 

As for him?  He kept smacking his lips and doing something with his mouth that made me shudder to think what a toad must taste like. 

Then, it hit me: “What if it’s poisonous to him??”

I did the only logical thing: I Googled. 

Sure enough, petmd.com explained “toad venom toxicity” as common in dogs - and almost always lethal! 

My son received a phone call – posthaste - that went something like, “Sorry about your vacation, dude, but we might have a problem!” 

Some quick work on his part including calls to Drake’s vet yielded us the professional opinion that, for all the longer the encounter had lasted, and considering the “big boy” Drake is, he would most likely be fine.  But that I should watch him closely, and call immediately if any of a host of symptoms appeared…

Thankfully, they did not.  He survived, and so did I.  Again. 

I guess to write about Real Life, I must first live it.

I sure feel like I do.   

The End. …for this week…