Dog STANK!

It’s a smell that stings the most inner parts of your nostrils.  Not just a stink, but a torture.  Painful and persistent.  Deep and determined. 

While sitting around my mother-in-law’s living room with some family members last weekend, I battled through rounds of aerial assaults delivered effortlessly by the canines under my feet.  It was a calm and relaxing Saturday night and I was watching the Nuggets get hammered (AGAIN!) and sipping my beverage of choice.  Sprawled out on the floor was about 37 feet and 300 lbs worth of dog.  One, a Saint Bernard with a wonderful demeanor and “unintentional” delivery of the kind of stench that makes your pancreas quiver.  The other, a wonderful Great Dane with charm, patience and ppffttt (sound it out…). 

The two creatures lay along side one another and catch some zzz’s as a room full of family sits, chats and enjoys the evening.  Then, out of nowhere and with incredible force, an invisible haze starts taking out the family members sitting in the room.   The stench first immobilizes the youngest… picking on his still developing sense of danger and defense.  The teen now finding himself engulfed in the dog stank that isn’t kind and doesn’t hold back.  The poor kid, without the proper defense techniques and strategies, succumbs to the attack and falls from the chair – gasping for relief.  Then the floating fumes tackles another. Still carrying the force of an erupting volcano, the nasty attacks victim number two.  This time, my brother-in-law fought back.  He started blowing with all of his might…. His aim directly and the “firing zone” of the animal and hoping to overpower the spreading of the smell.  Failure.  My brother-in-law almost passed out from the huffing and puffing.  Still, I applaud his efforts to protect the family.

Weary and stumbling, my brother opens the window as we invite the spring temperature of 33 degrees (and snow) in from the outside.  Please – Something HELP!!!!  The chill of the air helps for a bit.  There is almost enough time to regain clear vision and for my ears to stop ringing… then whamo – another hit.  This one rattles me to the core.  I think I throw up a little in my mouth and I can now feel the hair on my body starting to melt.  I’m sure this one was the Saint Bernard as he now sleeps with what appears to be a smirk on his face.  Like he knows the pain he is causing.  His size intimidating, 170 lbs of pure dog food recycling.  I learned that his flavor was Chicken and rice…  I think that combination for dog food should be outlawed. 

The final relief only arrived at bed time when the family scattered like a group of people at a Pee Wee Herman sighting.  To bed we would hustle, first stopping to wash off what felt like layers of YUCK from the skin exposed to these smelly creatures and to brush teeth that felt like they were fuzzy.  Jump in the sack, hide under the covers and say a prayer that the stink machines relocate to another room.  We are simply no challenge for the tang that exists the canine.  We give – we surrender – we might still have a little vomit in our mouths.

Dogs 1 - Humans 0

Meetings vs. Golf

Friday I was faced with a decision to make.  It was an answer that came quickly and easily.  There was a full day of "fun" in the halls of the Ivory Tower that is my corporate world, or there were 36 holes awaiting me with my buddies.  I pondered this for about as much time as Oprah does when asked if she'd like a second piece of chocolate cake.

To the links I would head!  9:15am tee time at Plum Creek to battle what the forecast called breezy, but what I equate to a dry hurricane.  Still, I was on the course.  The briskness and challenge of the morning was easily overcome as I could hear the faint meeting reminders chiming on my smartphone, reminding me that I could be in meeting number three at the office instead.  We forged ahead with grace, persistence and a little something in a silver flask to help fight the pains and frustrations of 3-putts, 700mph wind aided power fades that endangered passenger vehicles on neighborhood streets and the smack talking coming from the members making up the foursome.

The round ended with frozen smiles, chapped lips, windburn, one amputation due to frostbite and an inability to get warm.  A Philly cheese steak and a couple Fat Tires eased the thawing process as we passed around dollars and snide remarks while reviewing the "impressive" scorecard.  No, the scores weren't anything to add a puff to the chest, but still, we were golfing on a work day.

The next round was scheduled for the same course and to immediately follow lunch, however discussions about the weather conditions and WIND forced a change in plans.  We would relocate for our next round and head to another course that offered better wind block and hopefully forgiveness.  The drive took about 27 minutes and you would be amazed at just how stiff your back can get in that short commute.  Still, there was more golf to be had.

Anxious and stiff on the first tee, I hammered a drive that was most certainly not destined for the fairway and was an indication that this new round, well, it too would be a challenge.  We sputtered around the course as we found sand traps and trees.  Sometimes it was trees and then sand.  The 3-putts had followed us from the previous round and were chuckling at us as we cursed our putters and each other.

At the completion of the 9th, the crew realized that 27 holes would have to suffice.  We were tired, beaten and humbled.  An early exit to a couple of pitchers and more mockery was the plan of attack.  We sat on the patio and enjoyed some beverages as we made fun of the rounds we had played.  No, we weren't scaring off any course records on this day, but we were golfing.  We were golfing while others were working... and that my friends... that is a beautiful thing!

Hello? Wait… where are you?

I’m guessing I’m not the only one.  I can’t be.  Here’s the setting…..  it’s 9:15am and you have finished your cup of coffee (or third cup of coffee) and the time has come for a potty break.  You stroll into the porcelain palace for a quiet moment of privacy and relief.  Then, out of nowhere, “yeah Bob, I think we should be able to get there around noon.  No, I haven’t talked to him in forever but I know we’ll be able to pick up where we left off…..”.  Humm.  He isn’t talking to himself is he?  Are there voices in his head competing for his attention?  Nope.  There, blinking in blue wonder is the BLUETOOTH ear piece that delivers the sounds of his voice, his zipper, some flowing water, some flushing, more sounds that are just yuck and everything that should otherwise be left off the Verizon network.

Are you kidding me?  There are so many things wrong with this.

One.  You don’t know the person on the other end of the phone call THAT WELL and shouldn’t believe a bathroom phone chat is acceptable.

Two.  You aren’t so important that you need to leverage every possible minute of the day in “productive” mode. 

Three.  You CAN hear what’s going on in there and I’m guessing your guest on the other end of the phone really doesn’t need to hear what happens in stall #3.

Four.  I never want to borrow your phone.

Of course I could continue down the list of why you are a complete tool for having a phone conversation during potty time, but for those Restroom Rebels, I don’t think it would matter.  I’m guessing these types of people are also the ones that drive with their tiny dog “Muffy” on their lap.   They probably are the loud laughers at the restaurant table right next to you… you know the kinda laugh that is followed with a “WHOA” or snort of some kind.

We might actually be able to divide the world into two type of people…  Restroom Rebels and those with principles.  I’m here to ask that you not be a Restroom Rebel.  Stay strong America.  We are a society of cleaner, classier and smarter people.  Be warned of the phones out there which have been exposed to the elements….by no fault of their own, but they are out there.  Take caution when helping out your rebel buddy with installing an app, managing his contacts or anything that requires your hands on the device that has seen the inside of stall #3.

Dear Kobe Bryant,

Dear Kobe Bryant,

I like basketball.  I enjoy sitting back and taking in an NBA game despite the egos, attitudes and overall feeling of entitlement that seems to ooze through those meshed uniforms.  Some teams are more exciting to watch than others and some players that make plays leaving my jaw agape.  You’re one of those players whose athleticism and talent frequently puts on a display that leaves hoops fans in awe.   There are other teams who struggle to exhibit the things that make the NBA special and some players who just get under your skin.  Players who struggle from the line, have too many foolish turnovers or whose attitude is so yuck that you simply can’t stomach their appearance.  (Insert:  Kendrick Perkins, Manu Ginobili.. actually the entire Spurs roster, Matt Barnes, etc.) 

Did you know it is entirely possible for you to be guarded tough?  There will be times you rise up for an 18 foot jumper and miss.  You might even lose control of the dribble while weaving through the lane.  Traveling is a standard rule in the NBA (albeit loosely monitored).  Blocked shots happen, even to those wearing the number 24.  MVP awards, All-Star appearances and impressive stats don’t change the rules of the game.  You, Kobe Bryant, don’t get fouled EVERY time you miss a shot.  (Please feel free to remind Tim Duncan of this as well…)

As a casual fan, it is frustrating to see a grown man grasping for an excuse that caused his miscue.  It couldn't possibly be that you simply missed the jumper or turned the ball over.  There has to be a reason for it.  You were fouled!  You had a bad burrito for lunch!  One of the staff at the Staples Center opened an exterior door which modified the air flow in the arena that caused your back iron blunder.  A blonde wearing a flashy bedazzled blouse distracted you from the front row.  We know… it wasn’t your fault. 

Rather than giving every NBA official in the land the stink eye when you screw up, how about trying to control your emotions and realize that you aren’t always going to be perfect and just hustle down the floor?  When you stare down a ref, wag your finger at all those “haters” after you complete the AND 1, slap the floor in display of the obvious missed call by a professional official…. Well, it gets me to the point of grabbing the remote and surfing channels hoping for WNBA action.  Assuming the WNBA is actually still a thing.  

Don’t ruin the game.  Don’t pretend you aren’t capable of making mistakes.  I won’t bring up “role model” as I know how you bazillionaire athletes hate that inevitable responsibility…. But be a man that plays hard, respects the game and carries himself in a way that lets his game do the talking.  Basketball fans don’t need your poopy attitude leaking into their living rooms.  A competitive, passionate All-Star is one thing….  A whiny, arrogant and annoying Kobe is what you are.