Six years ago my 12-year-old and I went to go pick up a puppy, who came from a farm outside Grande Prairie. We were a few months into a pandemic that rendered restaurants as uninhabitable wastelands, and live music as an assault on the public.
I kid; of course, but sometimes I have to stop and consider the notion that EVER performing music in front of actual people again was up in the air, and all aspects of my livelihood were under threat.
We brought home a 6-week old, 17-lb great dane cross and completely changed our lives forever. At first, in the chaotic way… but ultimately in the best way. I can’t imagine my life without this amazing creature, who somehow manages to house 7000 lbs of character inside that tiny (ha!) 145lb frame.
Kirby. The best dude.
I knew within moments that he was going to give me a real rough time in the future… the distant future, though, right?
He’s blessed us with good health, amazing companionship, and more love than anyone should ever be able to claim. And after 6 years, countless disemboweled squeaky toys, innumerable devoured watermelons, and relentless protection from package delivery people and political canvassers alike, I can only hope and pray for another 6 years, followed by another 6 years.
My sweet boy.
I have to stop typing now.
He’s watching me type this… and it’s time to friggin’ WRASTLE!
The Conscious Pilgrim 