GOD HATES MY PONY TAIL

Or something.

I'm not really sure what it is that god hates about me, but apparently, in some way, I've pissed him off. I mean, didn't his son have long hair and a beard? But I've never seen the messiah portrayed with his hair tied back (though you'd think this would be a practical accessory for a guy who was so busy healing lepers, tossing vendors out of churches and walking across water and all) so maybe my dubious fashion sense is seen as being profane ... Or perhaps this dislike is based on about 40 years of me denying his existence, questioning the need for such existence and just generally being a pain in his omnipotent ass

So I'm not really sure why god hates me, I just have proof that he does.

This past weekend I was scheduled to be held hostage by family and friends here at my house. It's a strange and devious act of terrorism that happens every year. It's like a dark ritual, somehow connected to the movement of the stars, the turning of the calendar and how much more grey my hair has become in the interim ...

The previous week or so had been perfect weather; sunny, warm, dry. This boded well, if the weather was warm I may be able to keep the invading horde out of my sanctum santorum Let them erect their yurts in the yard and keep them out of the house; this is always a sage strategy, let them in the house and they're prone to breaking the furniture and covering the wall with graffiti and replacing all my coffee with tea ... the horror!

So we cleared space in the yard and I erected a barbarous stone and wood altar to appease them (ok, it's a picnic table but Costco was all out of altars) and I set my two trained attack dogs on guard duty (they will actually bark when someone enters the house, then they will show you where the dog cookies are) and glanced up at the sky. All was well, the sky was clear ...

But the big ponytail hating bastard in the sky had other plans. And it rained. Roll back to last year's birthday blog ... more rain. If I live another 40 years and this pattern persists, then I predict a flood ... a really really really slow coming flood. Clearly, instead of buying a new picnic table, I should have invested in a few lifeboats.

But the one thing about invading pagan terrorist hordes, they have their own powers. While the rain poured down on me as I sacrificed meat on the fire to appease the rain gods, we built a fire and it scared god's rain back ... OK, technically, the rain had stopped by then, but if you thought this blog had anything to do with technical truth, brother, you're in the wrong place

The next day, the day the horde was leaving was, of course, sunny and hot. At least god was on my side at that point ... no excuse for them to stay ... not that I could have prevented them from hanging around. Nor would I want to

So another tussle with the cranky old bastard up there. Licked my wounds, pressed on, and showed him that year after year, the cranky old bastard down here will never tap

WHY DO YOU HAVE DOGS?

It's a question I get asked fairly frequently, especially since we've taken on Terra. It's a fair question. Dogs are a lot of money. They are a lot of work. They can restrict your movements, your freedom. They occupy a lot of your time. Double the dogs doesn't double any of the above factors .. it seems to triple them.

Except for poop. It quadruples the poop. . Seriously. It's some kind of physical phenomenon. Stephen Hawking should look into it

So, why dogs? When the vet bills or food bills roll in, when we're tired in the morning and don't feel like going anywhere but you get those four brown eyes staring at you .. I ask myself the same question

Today I got my answer.

It was a miserable day here in Toronto. The kind of weather I hate more than anything: Cold, grey and a cold stinging driving rain that almost hurts when it hits your face, that soaks your clothes through in seconds, that forces you to turn your head against it only to feel it slide down the back of your neck, wet and icy

I would take a blizzard over this any day. Without dogs I would have no reason to venture out in such shitty weather. I'd be huddled on the couch with Collette, watching B movies and drinking Bailey's Irish Cream and commenting: "You'd be fucking nuts to be out in this"

But there were those eyes. Collette had taken them out in the morning, it was now past the time we normally go for their afternoon weekend walk. They had been perfectly good, letting us watch a movie and eat breakfast, quietly waiting and now it was time, no it was past time and yes it's shitty but we really need to go ...

So yeh, I'm fucking nuts

I took them up to Earl Bales Park. We used to live closer to there and Hayley is very familiar with the park, the old road that leads down to it, the golf course that leads away from it, but Terra had never been. It's a big park, lots of trails and open fields and small woods. So I bundled the girls in the car and away we went

It was grey. Rainy. Cold. Miserable. But Hayley went down this familiar road with her tail wagging, finding trails she had not been in on in years and unerringly leading me along them; Terra went racing up and down the steep hills of the ravine, splashing through the rain puddles, barking in the trees .. at one point she raced straight up the side of a 6 ft tall brick wall and stood up there staring down at me as if to say "Wow, do you see where I am now?"

We played ball in a big open field and threw the stick on the fairway of the golf course. The rain sliced down the whole time. But the girls were running and barking and leaping and playing in the puddles

My eyes were slitted against the rain and it was sliding down my neck and my fingers were freezing.

But I was smiling

That's why I have dogs.

THE GOOD SHIP BIRTHDAY PARTY

Yeh, yeh, I'm a year older. Greyer, crankier, wiser .. OK, only two of those assertions are accurate. I'll let you decide.

Not sure I get the whole point of this "birthday" celebration thing. Sure, another year has gone by. I suppose that means physical changes, more notable once you crank past that half century mark. The only changes I'm aware of at the moment are some new calluses on the palms of my hands. That's from hanging on to the handles of two flexi leashes as two border collies take me for a walk .. no, I mean as I take two border collies for a walk .. I mean .. a run .. I mean .. well, I mean I have two dogs that really like to go out.

But these physical changes are not really anything that one should throw a party to celebrate. It's not like I've grown a third eye, or devil horns, or a leathery lizard crest on the top of my head that flares up whenever I get excited. Now for that, I would throw a party.

So what about the mental aspects of getting a year older. Well, I'm sure in some aspects, the old mental acuity has dissipated. My memory is for sure unravelling like a cheap sweater in a rain storm. I'm having difficulty remembering all the stuff I've forgotten. I suppose I'm somewhat wiser. Not many years go by in which I haven't learned something .. even if it's stuff like: Don't use a really good T shirt to open a stubborn beer twist cap. it creates a hole and pisses off the spouse.

Still, again, nothing to really celebrate. Not like I woke up one day this year and solved the perpetual motion dilemma or figured out how to keep boxer shorts from riding up my private business. And yet, I did indeed have a party. Why? Well, it's summer, there's beer, I get to invite my friends and family, there's beer, I can BBQ, there's beer .. yeh, you get it.

So, one of the real reasons I throw a birthday party here is because my sacred event occurs in the middle of July. When it's hot, and sunny and you can stay outside at night, and you make fun of people's tan lines. In other words, my birthday is a great excuse for a summer party ... but that seems a rare thing in Ontario these days. Not parties. Summer. I do believe that, without anyone telling me, Ontario has moved to the tropics. Because we sure as fuck seem to be getting a rainy season.

My birthday weekend was no exception. Thursday I cut the lawn in the rain. A bad omen. I swear I could feel mushrooms growing around my ankles as I mowed .. and that may make you ask what kind of mushrooms, but I ain't gonna tell you. Friday night my sister Tyna came down. I walked Terra in the rain. Omens, people, omens. I believe in them, but I ignore them. See where that gets me.

So you guessed it. Saturday, day of the party, it rained. No, it didn't rain. It deluged .. I know, it's not a word, but it should be. It deluged all over the fucking place. We had a puddle in the yard that Jacques Cousteau would have made a documentary to film. At one point Collette was bailing water out of it. Yes, my wife was bailing the yard. When I started the BBQ I was standing ankle deep in water. Only time I was at the grille that I needed an apron, a set on tongs and a snorkel.

It was wet. This is the point I'm making.

But I intended to party on. Stood out there at the BBQ in my dive mask and snorkel, border collies paddling by me, sipping beer, pondering whether or not I was in a major shipping lane. But, somehow, the rain stopped. The puddle was transformed into a mud pit big enough for a Woodstock II mosh pit, but the rain let up, guests wandered into the yard, pointing up at the sky and whispering "What's that big bright thing up there?"

More guests showed up, more dogs showed up, a couple of tons of animal flesh was seared and devoured, and empty beer bottles were made into a redoubt to keep any further floods at bay. I decided to pull out my metal fire place. What were once ashes in the bottom had been transformed into more mud. I swear, there were a bunch of half dressed teenagers sliding around in there, flashing the rock on devil horns ... Thanks to a valiant wood chopping effort by our friend Kevin, we did get the fire started.

So we spent the rest of the night, huddled around our fire, imbibing and eating and eating and imbibing and in between courses, working on an ark .. After all, from everything I understand, I'm going to have another of these parties next year.