I love kids. I love them enough to go on record and state that I want some of my own—just not yet. In the meantime, I’ve been content to practice for the upcoming challenge. Some of you reading this have been generous enough to dump your kids on me from time to time, and for that, I thank you. After all, that’s what Coach Drew is here for, right? In addition to the hordes of rug-rats and miscellaneous youngsters that I’ve had the opportunity to pseudo-parent, I’ve also had the chance to hone my skills while rearing my two adopted children, Dino and Mia.
Even though they live thousands of miles apart and have never met each other, they do have one important thing in common: they’re both just like Daddy. Dino, for example, loves him some bola*. Like me, he’s really not into running just for the sake of it, but give him a ball and he’s on it like a fiend on a pipe. All joking aside, I would recommend against using the b-word* around him unless you are already at the park and ready to roll with ball in hand.
Mia, on the other hand, is not crazy about balls. In fact, I literally just tossed one at her and she ran out of the room. That’s OK because she still likes to get active... which brings me back to my original thought: she’s just like Daddy too. I guess it's true that the apple never falls far from the tree—especially the part about falling. Unfortunately, my little girl had some kind of spill during a unsupervised brinca** session with some of her friends. Now she’s got a broken left arm... just like Daddy. Actually, she’s ahead of schedule—I think I was about one year old when I first broke my arm, and she’s only six months.
It may sound like I am taking this pretty lightly, but I’m not. I guess the bitter humor is just how I’m dealing with it—the pity, the guilt, and the frustration. After a few trips to the local animal clinic it dawned on me (again) that I’m not in Kansas anymore. Honestly, it’s easy to forget how isolated I am when I’m watching English soccer via satellite and checking my Facebook at work (just a little bit). Then my little girl’s got a limb hanging limp, and all the vet can do is give her a shot for the pain and improvise a splint from random wood scraps and a few strips of tape. Oh yeah, I forgot: I live on a tiny island in a developing country in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Somehow it had slipped my mind that there wasn’t a fully equipped professional doggie surgeon in the local yellow pages. My bad.
If there is a silver lining, it must be that Mia is taking this whole thing a lot better than I am. Like I said, she loves to get active, especially with other dogs, and this hasn’t slowed her down a bit. Even with only three functioning legs, she is still down to rassle and she never passes up a chance to let the other canines know. And since she's just like Daddy, I expect that she won't be letting a broken arm or two (or three) stop her from doing big things.
Honestly, the chances for a full recovery are not looking good right now. All I can do is hope for the best and remind myself that either way, she’s got a long happy life ahead of her. In the meantime, think some happy thoughts for her.