Joys of the season

Had a good weekend up North.

I went sledding with J&K and their cousins and friends on Saturday. Saturday afternoon I made an appetizer I invented, Brat Pockets, to take to Phil & Kelly's for their Christmas party. I had a little help from Mom.


The kids and I went to FIL's for the party, the pockets were a hit. After a Murphy's Irish Stout, I was ready to don the hallowed garb of the jolly fat man himself. I felt a little pressure as the young ones stared at me in awe. J&K didn't know beforehand, but when I walked in the room, they had a knowing twinkle of recognition in their eyes, and a beaming smile on their faces. The parents said I did well.


That was a fun night. But Sunday brought a special moment. The three of us were driving to town to shovel the new snow from the driveway of our house. We rounded a corner on Crescent Road, where a boy of ten or twelve was running after a couple of beagles. As we drove carefully past, I could see the dogs were not preparing to relinquish their freedom, and the boy was struggling with the awkward gait of the weight of his winter boots. I readied myself to warn oncoming drivers around the next corner, then I thought maybe I could cut the dogs off at the pass. I turned the truck around, drove to block the dogs, and honked the horn. The dogs, an older smiling beagle, and a young playful one, stopped and stared. I put the hazard flashers on, got out, and crouched down. A few soft words brought the pups over to me. I carried them to the boy, who thanked me with a broken cry of relief in his voice. I got in the truck, and the kids said, "Good job, Dad."

Later I heard Michaela relating the story to Mom, telling her how I had "saved" the dogs. There are many days of hard work in a man's life, days of drudgery and strife. But one moment of being a hero in your children's eyes trumps whatever hand life gives you.