Like Father, Like Son

There are moments when I think I surely must have been adopted and then something happens and I find myself saying “nope, I’m definitely one of them.”

Today, I was in a big hurry to return home from my morning walk with Pa.  You see, when I come home from a walk, I get a “good boy treat” and some days I can hardly wait to collect (I suspect that on those days I’ve been short changed on my breakfast, but I’ve never been able to prove it because I gobble it all up before I can count the individual kibble).   Anyway, I was so excited about my “good boy treat” that I pretty much dragged Pa past the last few houses and up the driveway.  Once I got past the side gate and was released from my leash, I ran full force toward the side door.

Now the problem with rushing, I’ve found, is that sometimes, in one’s haste, one starts to lose track of important things.   For me, there were four important things that I forgot about: my four feet.  In racing toward the door, my legs got all tangled up with each other and I ultimately ended up in a heap on the side step. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve ended up in such a state.  In fact, I’m frequently reminded by my family that I need to take it slow going up those stairs (“You’re a hundred and seven years old” they tell me).  Yet time and time again, I take a good long runup, leap in the direction of the landing, and either trip over the steps or clear the steps completely at such a speed that I end up skidding into the door with a mighty bang.   After checking to make sure I’m okay, my family then proceeds to remind me of the mistakes I’ve made.

So, there I was, lying in a heap on the steps.   A moment later, Pa came over, hoisted me up, and opened the door to let me in, all the while reminding me that I’m over 100.  As I walked into the house, Pa proceeded to follow but, in the process, managed to trip over his own feet (and he only has two of them).  Having cleared the door, I look back over my shoulder to see Pa in a crumpled heap on the side steps exactly where I had been moments before. 

Pa was alright; he was no worse for wear.  He got up, brushed himself off, and followed me into the house.  I won’t lie, I found the entire event rather funny.   Like father, like son, I thought.   Ma and Sister?  They laughed at “their boys.”