Milo T. Dog: A Reluctant Epiphany

No. I don’t want a dog. I don’t like dogs. I am not taking care of no dog!

This is more of an update to the original story found here: Yeah, so we got a Mutt.

Let me be clear on this point. I don’t like any animal if it means harboring it in my house and then caring for it. This is not a singular objection to dogs alone. Simply a practical objection to what any baggage a creature might bring with him/her into my house of clean carpets and breezy crisp fresh air.

I may have mentioned this once or twice before, but when I put my foot down around here people get to jumpin. Of course they usually jump to do the very thing I put my forbidding foot down about but that’s another story all together.

This particular foot putting resulted in getting the very thing I didn’t want; a dog. Milo T Dog to be exact. The T stands for his middle name, The. As in Milo The Dog. And yes Dog is his last name. You need only inquire with his vet down the street to verify that little fact. If she refers to him with my last name she does so only in the presence of my wife. And she does that at her own peril.

So yeah, breezy freshness gone, clean carpets, gone. Enter Milo. The carpets didn’t stand a chance. He immediately did the very thing I hate about dogs. He licked me. Hate may be too strong a word. Repulsed might be better. Yes I am repulsed by dog licking. At least I was. Now, god help me, Milo licks me with impunity. To his credit Milo employed that old prison axiom. Find the biggest dude in the joint and kick his ass. It’s the only way to establish dominance and improve your survivability.

Milo11

Watch out, he’s a dangerous beast.

Milo clearly marked me as the alpha in the house but instead of going the tough guy rout he came at me with his cuteness. I mean look at this freaking mutt. Even I could not resist that. And I’m from Jersey.

So yeah I admit it, I was warming to the idea. What of it. As much as I hate to shatter myths about myself, I am not a godless, inhumane, dog hater. I’m just lazy. Dogs, specifically six week old puppies, cut into my laziness at a 45 degree angle. But again I refer you to the photo of Milo the day he showed up. All of six weeks old we think, he was oozing cuteness.

I was not swayed at first mind you. Me and this mutt had some dancing left to do. Once again I put my foot down. My declaration went something like this, If I have to take this dog out once in the middle of the  night to pee, I will throw a rib-eye steak out into on-coming traffic, however light that may be at 3am in Knoxville, and I will not look back nor lose one second of sleep over it. And once again that little rant went largely unheeded. A fact I contemplated while standing in the yard at 1:30 one morning at the end of a leash waiting for Milo to take care of business. One thing can’t be denied, no matter their effectiveness, I can throw down a good rant.

milo1

Big deal. Do the dishes, fold laundry, then I’ll be impressed.

Needless to say his first few days did not impress me much. That’s him in the second pic. Sleeping sitting up. Yeah I get it. That in itself is impressive. What dog sleeps sitting up? At least he wasn’t barking or crapping. Small victories I guess.

It may have been his reluctance to bark that first started to change my mind a bit. One thing is for sure, the dog is not dumb by any stretch of the imagination. He obviously sensed my animosity toward him, especially after he licked me with his dog tongue. He had a tough road ahead if he was going to remain in the house.

Then one evening he made his move. It felt a bit like a set up after I saw the pictures. Mind you I was asleep. This was all orchestrated by Mrs Frank’s Place. Since she’s the one who did dirty getting Milo in the house in the first place I guess she figured she needed some photo evidence to continue her case.

Milo T

Sneaky bastard. Tracy I mean, not the dog.

Behold. Milo T Dog violates my personal space. It may not be clear in that picture, but I was sound asleep. He knew it. Tracy knew it. Then apparently the entire neighborhood knew it as she texted out further evidence to the Sac. What’s also clear in these two shots is how comfortable that mutt is.

That was his first time on the bed and he had to be helped up there. But once there he quickly realized how cushy the adults in the house have it in the sleep department. That isn’t some rock hard, prison mattress we’re sleeping on. Since that night the dog has slept on my side or Tracy’s.

Thankfully he’s not much larger. He’s put on weight but he’s not much longer. He fits on the bed still and it appears that he’s grown as large as he gonna grow. I mean look at that mutt. He has not one care in the world in that picture.

Milo and me

Yeah we were both sawing the lumber that night.

Again, he ain’t dumb. He found a crack in my armor and he exploited it. I do not recall how long we were like that. But it is safe to say this was the beginning of a season of mutual understanding between me and Milo T.  He followed that up with sitting the first time a yelled SIT at him. I was just curios to see what he would do. The damn dog sat. He wasn’t three months old yet. With a few more tips from the neighbors he started to heed other commands as well.

That, more than being my new sleep buddy, endeared the mutt to me. No one else in the house listens to me. So to have a living organism not only listen but obey was a huge plus in Milo getting to stay. Also, surprisingly, the dog has a heart.

Milo Frank

Milo the comfort dog.

When one of the kids goes to bed upset from any number of idiotic actions they take that gets them chastised during the go to bed routine, Milo sleeps with them instead of me or Tracy. So apparently bad bedtime choices gets you a visit from Milo for the night.

Look, I’m not saying I want to let the dog lick me on the mouth. After all he does lick his own butt. Do people who kiss dogs on the mouth realize that? Anyway, I’m not ever going to be a dog lover to that level, but I clearly have warmed to Milo and he to me. He got the better of me. I’m big enough to admit it. Am I a dog person now?

Well yes by simple definition I am a dog person by virtue of having a dog. But am I a dog person? Not really. Currently I’m glad he’s more house broken than he was and still obeys when I speak to him. Will I ever be a dog person?

Sure, the minute he stops eating my dirty laundry.

Six months in writers Siberia: excuses, justifications, and all that other jazz.

Twain has that famous line about his obit being reported in error. He dined out on that damn line for years. Well I’m here to tell you that cat is dead now, no matter what the paper’s say. Me on the other hand…

Proof of Life – the author and his kids. (The Frank of Frank’s Place is in the middle)

Yeah I’m still here. All evidence to the contrary, I did not fall off the face of the earth. Sorry to disappoint all you loyal members of the Flat Earth society, but it’s round, and it keeps spinning. No matter what we do, it keeps spinning. Now, some things may spin on without you. Take for instance the daddy blogosphere. It has hummed along nicely in my six month absence. There has been a shift toward video blogging or vlogging as the kids call it, but there are still writers out there defending the long form and kicking out good stuff. For that, and them, I am grateful.

This paragraph is where I’m supposed to regale you with tales of the exploits and adventures that have kept me from the key board these last six months. Honestly the only reason I know it’s been six months is the last post on the blog was my end of year Best of 2016 Posts post. And even more honestly, there has been no great reason, no wild tale to tell that would explain my literary solitude. In fact there is no tale at all, wild or otherwise.

If I had to pick a simple word to excuse the lack of stories here it would be work. Yep, that’s it. Just work. That word serves as an excuse, justification and simple fact all at the same time. I got a job in 2015. I got a promotion in March of this year. As much as I hated leaving the most important thing I’ve ever done in raising my kids, I love my new job. Other than the 4am wake up I can’t think of one thing I don’t like about it.

But the simple fact is, I haven’t had the gumption, the drive, the want to, that enables me to sit down and write. I don’t know how all those working dads blog on such a regular basis. Well other than the fact I’m extremely lazy and they aren’t. But that seemed too obvious an answer. I have no trouble getting up at 6am on my day off (Friday) to make my tee time with my buddy. But sitting down to bang on the keys was escaping me. And I have no idea why it’s not now. That’s not entirely true. I have a few ideas.

For one I’m on vacation in the motherland. Sitting on the deck of a beach house in South Jersey seemed like a good time to look at the blog and see what’s been happening. Yeah, did I mention I haven’t even seen my site in six months? Not a post, not a stat. Ignoring blog stats for a blogger is like depriving normal people of things like food, water or air.

Second, I’ve actually read a few other blogs this week and felt a little inspiration. One in particular is Skipah’s Realm. A good blog written by Gary Matthews, a divorced dad working and raising his kid and doing all the other things people do. He weaves his stories in a tapestry of analogy and metaphor with a good dose of humor. The big thing for me is this, the dude is a single dad with a job and he’s banging out stories on the regular. I don’t care if you like his style or not, that’s impressive.

So I’ve charged up the tablet, dusted off the key board and started tapping some keys. This is what has come out so far. At some point, probably this paragraph, I’m supposed to tell you I’m back. At some point I’m supposed to tell you I have story upon story que’d up and ready to type. Even if that were true I would not make that mistake again. Or again. I’m pretty sure I said I was getting my work legs under me and finding a good writing schedule and all that jazz. I’m more than sure I said it twice already. So no more.  I’ve got a few stories, some work, some home, some about this vacation. Who knows when if ever I’ll type them up. Hell I may never type again or I could bang out one a day for weeks. No tellin.

So for now let me say thanks to you all who have kept checking back. You’re loyalty will be rewarded, or you know, not.

How’s that for specific vagueness.