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Some days the bark is worse than the bite

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By Brad Bradberry

There are days, and then there are days. I had a day last Saturday.

It all started with my grandson’s 6th birthday party. My wife, who takes such things very seriously, spent at least two days running around finding party favors, candy, decorations and other assorted junk. By Saturday morning, you would swear we were in the home party business.

About 11, six or seven kids began arriving, and I hotfooted it to the seclusion of an upstairs bedroom where I could watch college football in peace, knowing that my beloved Georgia Bulldogs would be on at 3 p.m. It said so in the paper.

Finally, though, another set of grandparents arrived, and I had to abandon my digs upstairs and go be social, something I don’t care much about. Anyway, I turned on the downstairs TV and made myself at home. (It’s my house, after all.)

Finally the chaos ended about 1:45 when everyone left. Then about 2:45 my son flipped over to the channel that the Bulldawgs were scheduled to be on at 3. They had been on for almost 1 hours. The Big Daily Newspaper to the East erred. The game had started at 1:30.

I was distraught and ready to stop my subscription, but then Georgia scored and went on to a stirring victory over the hated Auburn Tigers.

Then it got to be about 5:30, and my wife, exhausted from the party, went for fast food. After she left, the doorbell rang, and there stood a stranger in a baseball cap. He looked like he had been on a two-day binge. When I asked who he was, he replied, “I’m your cousin Bobby!” He should have said, “You rogue cousin, Bobby,” but oh well. He’ll be the first to say that he never met a poker game he didn’t like.

It had been about 15 years since we last saw each other, and it was wonderful to see him, but I was simply not prepared. He left about 7:30, headed for Tulsa.

Then the doorbell rang again. A petite woman was dragging, or being dragged by, a golden retriever that weighed some 100 pounds. “This dog was running down the street obviously lost. Can you help?”

So my wife took in this rambunctious retriever that could make a quick meal out of our 16-year-old terrier. We threw down a rug and an Afghan on the back patio and bid the dog goodnight. Of course his husky bark could be heard off and on through the night, but by morning he had calmed and my son took him for a walk, hoping to find the owner. It didn’t take 10 minutes before a little red-headed boy exclaimed “Hey, that’s my dog!”

It was a day that went to the dogs, but in a good way.

Brad Bradberry is the former publisher of Evergreen Newspapers.