While I’ve said living with Theo and Hudson is akin to some of my past adult relationships, there are times when it reminds me more of growing up with my two younger siblings and our dysfunctional little band of brothers.
When I was younger my mom often worked the 3-11 p.m. shift so from about the time I turned 12-years-old, after school I was the one in charge of the home front.
One year I got a unicycle for Christmas, and got about one day of attempting to ride it before a winter snow clogged the driveway.
I was in the learning stage so I was still using the crutches of parked cars, trees, whatever I could hold onto to get balanced and make a few fledgling pedals forward before crashing in a heap.
Once the snow fell and I was stranded inside I tried using the couch, doorknobs, whatever I could to support myself and get used to the feel of only one wheel below me.
I, of course, got the obligatory, “Don’t ride that thing in the house, you’re gonna break something,” from my mom.
One evening while she was at work, I found the perfect inside “crutch” to hone my balancing skills.
At the top of the stairs of our two-story house was a nice landing with banisters on both sides, a perfect pair of handholds for learning how to perch on one wheel.
Facing forward down the steeply inclined 15 – 20 stairs was a bit intimidating, but it was better than facing the other way and not being able to see where the landing stopped and the stairs began.
All was going well as I held onto the banisters and gently rocked back and forth above the 24-inch wheel. My younger brother had been playing in the bathroom downstairs until he decided to see what I was up to and poked his head around the open door at the bottom of the stairs.
At about that same time, I rocked a bit too far forward and met the place where the landing ended and the stairs began.
Looking up from the bottom my younger brother had a good view of me, a blur of spinning pedals, and spokes bouncing door the stairs toward him.
My brother did what most young brothers would do. He shut the door.
I was reminded of this dysfunctional brotherhood story recently as I worked on the farmhouse.
I pulled one of the window frames out to take it into town for some new glass. After removing the window I noticed the sending unit for Theo’s electric collar sitting in the window sill.
I absentmindedly spun the range control dial from one extreme to the other as I wondered to myself which direction gave it the most range, and which direction gave it the least range.
About the same time I hit one limit on the dial, I heard a muffled explosion of activity over by the trucks. There was a rattling of dog tags and a thud as something banged into the side of the Dodge.
My brain processed what the noise was about the same time it figured out what the cause of that noise probably was.
I quickly spun the dial to the max range and had both hands in the air looking accusingly at Hudson sleeping a few feet away when Theo lumbered around the back side of the Dodge to glare over in our direction.
He looked at me, looked at Hudson, then back to me before shaking his head a couple more times and heading back to his sleeping hole under the frame of the black truck.
Before you say, aw poor Theo. It goes both ways.
Last week I finally got around to hanging up my camp hammock. I strung it between two supports on the porch. On one side while laying in the hammock the floor a few feet away. On the other side it was a bit uglier.
It is about four feet from Hammock to the flower bed below. Rose bushes, short hedges and other prickly items made it an unwelcoming looking lot.
Saturday, after mowing I headed for the hammock for a break. As I sat down Hudson came up and plopped down just under my butt. About the same time I lifted my feet and turned to roll over and lay down, Hudson decided to reposition himself as well and stood up.
As he stood up he hit my butt, and the extra little bit of propulsion was just enough to roll me over in the hammock like an alligator in a death roll. The hammock spit me out on the non-porch side.
My descent to the prickly flower bed four feet below was slowed only temporarily as the edge of the porch planks raked me a “new one” on my left thigh.
After digging myself out from between the brush and brick trim around the porch, I made a few laps around the yard walking it off and muttering curses well versed for my current years.
I looked at Hudson, who was standing about where he was when he bumped me as the empty hammock swayed back and forth brushing his butt, he had about the same, “What did I do,” expression that my brother did after closing the stairway door.
I looked over at Theo, and I swear I saw a bit of a smirk as he put his head back down to finish his nap.
Terry Spradley is the editor of the St. John News. His e-mail address is sjnewseditor@embarqmail.com
