I guess it is really what you get used to hearing. No one else seemed particularly disturbed about the sound. I guess it falls under the category of: “It is what it is”. Daisy is a rescue dog from a hard place. She actually was initially rescued by my daughter and son-in-law at the water crossing a stone’s throw from our home on Christmas Eve two or three years ago. Someone obviously had dumped Daisy and a slightly larger dog out. From the looks of them they had been on their own for quite a long time. The larger dog was subsequently rescued by a neighbor as well and continues to live in her home.
Of course, when you are in route for a family function at my house, where else would you take a rescued dog? Some of you are thinking: “No one in their right mind would bring a dog to your house. You don’t even like dogs.” If only everyone was a smart as you, my life would seem calmer. Unfortunately, I don’t live in the same world where you do. In addition, I am only one of two people who live where I do and the General thinks differently than I do.
At any rate, long story short, my daughter-in-law and son subsequently took the rescued dog home with them to temporarily nurse the dog back to health until they could find a suitable home for the dog. At least that was the rhetoric provided. I should have known they would have the dog always. They simply added Daisy to the two rescue dogs they already had.
I don’t remember the names of the two other dogs. Actually, I do. One is named Lucky and the other is named Lennie. Becky adopted them from a shelter while Craig was deployed to Afghanistan. Some time later, the General and I kept the dogs along with the grandkids for a week in April 2014. We stayed with the kids at their home in Camp Lejeune, N.C. while Becky went to meet Craig for a week in Hawaii.
The week was memorable for a lot of reasons. For one thing, that first week in April 2014 represented the beginning of my blog. I chronicled something from each day we were at Camp Lejeune keeping our grandchildren. However, I don’t have to go back to the postings on Weebly to recall the week. I vividly remember that I changed the names of the two dogs from Lucky and Lennie to Precious and More Precious. It only took a week but we developed a wonderful love/hate relationship.
There is nothing like awakening to the sounds of barking dogs at 4:30 a.m. signaling that they wanted to go outside. As a recall, both dogs went outside and only one came back. Of course, the dog had to be somewhere in the back yard because it was fenced, but I didn’t go back to bed before the prodigal dog came inside.
The memories of that week are vivid. I guess you have to kind of “step in it” like I did to fully understand what I’m talking about. I started to just throw the shoes away, but I had just bought them. All I can say is that I recall my gag reflex worked just fine. Did I mention at best, a love/hate relationship defines my best efforts at being dog friendly?
I am also not a hunter. I awakened to the sound of a quiet house. Lost in thought, I subsequently heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. It was then that I remembered that Craig was taking William hunting. Actually, before the next three days are over, Craig will take the other two kids hunting as well. It is obviously a part of their DNA, but they didn’t get it from my side of the family.
William was only two years old when he went bear hunting with his dad in Northern California. He was carried by Craig in some kind of backpack contraption designed to carry children. His sister was three, and Jenna was being carried in the same kind of backpack by one of Craig’s marine corps’ hunting buddies. I’m not sure if that is what Becky had in mind when she asked: “Honey, will you watch the kids while I go to the grocery store?" The grocery store was about an hour and a half away.
I guess Craig saw that as an excuse to introduce his kids to hunting. I’d call it beginner’s luck. When they were in North Carolina, William would point to the bear on the wall and tell his friends that he had shot it with the help of his dad.
For Christmas this year, William was given a new Remington #700. I guess you could say: “Like father/like son.” Craig, too, has a Remington #700. They left the house early this morning to go deer hunting. When they were here last Christmas, William shot a really big dear. It is still at the taxidermist awaiting mounting, but reportedly it will be ready soon.
Watching the video of William opening his rifle with mounted scope took me back in time. Ronnie and I were only twelve years old, but we wanted a rifle for Christmas. Consequently, my paternal grandparents gave us a .22-rifle to share. Why we wanted it, is still beyond me. Maybe it is a right of passage of some kind? I don't know.
At any rate, I subsequently ended up with the .22 in my adult years. It had been in the home of my parents. I subsequently passed it on to Craig. The General’s dad was a deer hunter and he started grooming Craig to hunt early in his life. It was not as early as the start William was provided, but it was early. He also attempted to turn my interest in that direction. One year he provided me a 30.06 deer-hunting rifle for Christmas. I think I went hunting with him once or twice. Cold and miserable are the two words I’d use to describe experience. Hunting is not my thing! Fortunately, we didn’t even see a deer. Downing a deer would create another entire set of issues that I have no interest in discovering. That isn’t a character flaw. It is simply a statement of fact.
After all, Jacob and Esau were brothers growing up in the same household. Esau hunted and Jacob did not. Maybe it gets back to hardwiring and personal interest. It isn’t my interest, but I applaud the fact that Craig uses the activity to share personal time with his kids. He no longer really hunts. He has more enjoyment providing his kids the opportunity.
The way I see it, the only cold weather sport that lights my fire is snow skiing. The thought makes winter seem worthwhile. Otherwise, keep me out of the cold.
All My Best!
Don