Bored Dog + Stressed Dad + Innovative Mind = New Glamis Toy

Okay, dog. So I've been working a lot. I get it. It's totally understandable.

I know, I know. But it's not like you are ever waiting for me when I get home, either. It's not like you are overly anxious for company and play time. Nope.

You're in bed and don't even greet me. I even have to get you up to take you for a walk. I have to get you excited to go 3 and a 1/2 miles. You act all bothered and troubled when I get your leash out (although I know you love the walks because you think you own the universe).

Then, after the long walk, you drink water and immediately go back to bed. I know. I know. I missed National Dog Day by one day. Get over it. You're sleepy. It's hard being furry, fuzzy, and clawed.

Of course, 9 p.m. always hits and then that turns to 10 p.m. - You do your ritual search for Chitunga by sitting in the bay window. You think every car is his, but they're not.

I know. I know. I miss him, too. But guess what? He's doing well. Dean's List in fact (we got the certificate and letter today from LeMoyne).

And you stare. You crawl towards me with those puppy eyes. You crawl towards me, inch towards me, creep towards me, with the tiny gerbil whining. I know you want to play and yes, I know I spend all my time on the computer. "It's dossier time," I tell you. "I need to do this because it is an investment into future biscuits for you."

You don't care. I grab a beer and it tastes good. So I grab another. Then I remember that a few days ago I did a ritual of going through old t-shirts that have seen better days and turn them into running shirts by cutting off the sleeves (I hate sleeves in the summer). I throw all the sleeves in the garbage, thinking I might use them for dust cloths, but no I never will.

I think, "Wait. You love chewing on old socks and every time I buy you a squeaky animal toy, you shred it to bits."

So, we go upstairs. You run after me like it's the most exciting experience in your life time. The anticipation in your tail, whimpering, and facial expressions let me know you are thrilled by what is about to happen. I take the shreds of sleeves and begin to tie knots. You show little patience and begin to scratch on my leg. I say, "I know. I know." And I keep on tying. You grow more and more excited because it is like Christmas morning for you....like your birthday.

And I say, "Hey, these are CNS colors. Northstars. The alma mater," then realize some of the shirts you cut up are from your high school days of green and blue." After twisting, knotting, and tying, I show you the gift and you immediately jump up and grab it out of my hands.

For 20 minutes I throw it and you retrieve. You play tug-of-war with me. You threaten war.

Then you collapse and it's over. You go up onto the bay

window and look out wondering "This is great and all, but I really wanted Chitunga to come home."

And you sigh.

I simply say, "I know. I know," then I write this Sunday post to wish the kid the greatest semester and to send my love and encouragement for his Fall. He works too hard.

Then, you look at me and grunt. You are intuitive. You imply fallen apples not far from trees.

Then I think about Mikey and how, yesterday, at a planning meeting with my colleague, Beth, I sent a special treat home with her for National Dog Day. He loves 'shoulder rests, airplane pillows', so I found the next best thing! One that also squeaks!)

Then I see that look in your eyes. "Gave that toy to another dog, did you?"

Yep. It's the dog days of a soon-to-end summer.