Doggy Daddy

​Father’s Day a year ago happened a little earlier in the month, on June 15th, a horrendous day because that’s when Luke had his first seizure, nine  plus months before the one that proved to be fatal.

I’m not sharing this sad memory to be a downer for puppy lovers, or for anyone who loved reading about all those crazy antics of our beloved  and greatly missed poodle.

I share to illustrate what an outstanding father Jim Amster is, even to a fur baby.

He spent that holiday comforting Luke, petting him, feeding him his favorite treats, treating him with unconditional love in the months that followed, even those awful weeks coping with doggy dementia and frustrating incontinence.

This is the love my wonderful husband is capable of bestowing on an animal.. so in your mind, quadruple that, and you’ll get an idea of the wonderful role model he is for our human son, Evan.

They share a sense of humor and a love of sports and current events.. and being on the right side of history. 

If Evan and Michelle are ever blessed with a son one day( the same will apply to a daughter or gender neutral child) the child will be the one who is blessed. 

Evan had an unparalleled role model.

A friend, a father, a family guy.

I think of my own dad, Mike Levson, who we lost to a filthy cigarette habit in 1989 at the young age of 61.

But I’m not going to dwell on that horrible habit that killed him.. I’ll just allow myself to broadly smile and picture him talking sports with his grandson and his ( Hebrew) namesake, our son who inherited his sarcasm. 

Happy Father’s Day to all the great ones out there.. the men who love and respect women. 

Who respect men, children, and animals. 

Who’d spend years in therapy if that’s what it took to kill any toxic masculinity that lived within them.

The men who tear up when they see their happy and successful children become well adjusted adults.

The men who change a full doggy diaper with not a single complaint.. with only gratitude that they got a few more months to do just that.

Hitchcockian Afternoon

The quintessential pool day!! 

Gentle breezes, the intoxicating scent of sunscreen and perfume, a bathing suit that fits properly. 

A new float,  some old ABBA, and a fabulous mixed tape that Jim made for me that’s turned me into some kind of uncoordinated mermaid.

Best  of all, the liner has lightened in the sun over these last four years. 

It’s no longer a threatening blue: it’s a “ come on in, the water’s fine!” blue. 

I have no idea what I mean by “threatening blue”.. it’s just this weird vibe.

And speaking of weird, we both shared a Hitchcockian experience yesterday, but today,  Jim just went to play pickleball and our avian friend is  apparently laying low.

Yesterday, the bird went Psycho.

I’m going to call her “Marnie” because I might as well stick  with this Master of the Macabre theme.

We’ve had avian friends drop by before.. even one who literally dropped and committed suicide by the diving board a few summers ago.

Marnie was different. 

She’d fly low.. frighteningly low.. like she was a shark and we were prey on jet skis.

By the time one of us could ask, “ did you just see that?” she’d be back, with menacing swoops and loop-de-loops.

She’d stumble onto the patio, come to, and then start the low flying swoops all over again. 

Jim CRANED his neck, I turned into a RAVEN lunatic, wondering if this was some kind of omen.

She didn’t want food.

She didn’t want water.

She didn’t want to avenge our polarizing  and controversial Facebook posts because I don’t think she could read. 

But she wanted something.

Non-stop swoops with flapping wings that sounded  like a jet taking off at Newark airport. 

There’s been no sign of her this afternoon so I guess that means I should just drink in the beauty of my newly appreciated pool liner’s color and crack open the Kindle. 

She really had me at the end of my Rope yesterday.

Worked us both into a Frenzy.

It’s a bird, it’s a plane. It’s AI​