“Hey, Andrew. I just wanted to thank you for housesitting for us while we were gone.”

Yeah, no problem.

“I’ve just got a question for you. Did you happen to eat some chocolate ice cream while you were here?”

Yeah, I did.

“Well, it was the last carton of ice cream that my grandfather bought me before he died.”

Um… What?

“Well, growing up, my grandfather used to take me and my siblings out to ice cream. It was kind of our thing. And the last time he came to visit before he died, he bought me that half gallon of ice cream.”

What?

“I’m sorry, Andrew. This is just too much. I know that it was half eaten, but you really shouldn’t have eaten the rest. How am I going to remember ‘Pop-pop’ now?”

Uh…

“We can’t be friends. I hate you. I hope you die.”

There’s something my heart feels right now. It’s full.

Seeing a people that you missed, and just being with them and enjoying simple things like food and fellowship.

Working with your hands and solving problems.

Spending time with your family.

Eating clam chowder in bread bowls.

Listening to the Civil Wars.

I am beyond blessed that my vacation back home was timed such that I get to house sit for a friend.

I get a warm, quiet house to sleep in, which is priceless with my parent’s house being full this time of year. I get a nice car to drive around, saving me hundreds of dollars on a car rental. I get to eat whatever food I find. It’s perfect.

But then there’s Bode. Bode is a boxer, just half of the dogs that I am watching in return for the wonderful benefits bestowed upon me and listed above. And don’t take this the wrong way, he’s not a bad dog, he’s not even hard to deal with. Both the dogs are very well mannered and a lot of fun. Just Bode has some particularities.

He likes sleeping in the bed with me. I’ve spent three nights here and for each night, I have a story.

The first night, Bode waited till I fell asleep to get in the bed with me. And then proceeded to sleep right in the middle of the bed. Bode’s not what you’d call a small dog, and while I’m a masculine guy, in the middle of the night isn’t when my muscles and brain are working at their best. Needless to say, I couldn’t dislodge the dog from the prime bed spot. I ended up sleeping in a narrow strip of a queen bed, only 2 inches from the edge.

The second night, Bode got into bed with me right away. I was able to position him off to one side, so we were splitting the bed in half. Everything was going well till about two thirty in the morning when I rolled over and head-butted Bode right in his head. It scared him and he ran out of the room and didn’t come back till it was time to wake up in the morning.

The third night, or as it’s commonly know in my memory as “Last night”, Bode opted out of sleeping in the same bed and instead slept somewhere else in the house. But when it was time to get up and let the dogs out and feed them, he hoped on the bed, and sat on me. Normally, I do enjoy having animals close to me, but when it’s a heavy dog that’s sitting on your back, and it’s five thirty in the morning, it’s less than enjoyable.

Another issue I have with Bode is that he’s a boxer. Boxers fart. Boxer farts stink. Boxer farts stink bad and will clear the room. In fact, I’m typing this as fast as I can so I can get out of the room.

24. She’s 24 now. I don’t remember when it started. I think it might have been when she was 16.

That’s what, 8 years? That’s eight Decembers that have had a McGrady party. Eight times I’ve prayed for, had cake with, and celebrated a good friend.

I remember the bowl of nacho cheese that she struggled to eat on a dare. I remember the times she would be leaving or just be coming back from changing lives over seas. I remember the times all her college friends came up. I remember the time she flaunted her beautiful bald head.

Decembers aren’t Decembers without three things. Christmas, New Years, and her birthday.