Don't get me wrong I had a fine Father's Day. My favorite breakfast. At my favorite time in the morning, about 9:30. Some great gifts, including a new pair of RayBans. And some free time on the couch to watch golf.
But by 2:00 PM, all that indentured servitude and lovey-dovey daddy goodness had worn off. And I won't see it again for another 350 days.
This is all struck me when, after returning from our camping trip, I stopped by the kennel to pick up Nelly.
No sooner had I walked in the building I could hear her distinctive barking from the pack of 50 plus dogs. As the handler brought her through the doorway, her nails were furiously clawing along the floor as she struggled to get to me as fast as she could. She whimpered. And whined. So happy to see me after 6 long days. Or 42 dog days.
It sadly reminded me of how my daughters would rush up to the car when I would return home from work. Now, with their heads buried into IM's or video games or the latest tirades from Tyra Banks, they don't do that anymore.
Which makes me so much more appreciative of Nelly's companionship. You see, when you have a dog, every day is Father's Day.