Dad here; I thought I was going to sneak out today for a little two wheeled therapy on the Salsa when I spotted a bit of white curled up in the leaves on the side of the road. She showed no sign of aggression as I approached, but neither did she make any advances when I stopped just short of touching her. It was obvious that she had recently had a litter of pups, but…

Dad here; since Charlie and I embarked on this journey together four years ago , the hardest posts to complete have always been the most revealing: first, the death of Stevie, then Max's violent demise, followed so quickly by that of Bull Taco. The death of my dad. The loss of my job of twenty one years and ten minutes. The infamous poop story, or "How to save the carpet by catching a turd on…

Dad here; there is a scripture "when I would do good, evil is present with me". I know the context of these words as they are written, but sometimes words have different meaning to different people according to where they are at on their particular journeys. I'm sure that you have noticed a drop off in the frequency of Charlie's posts, but let me assure you, we are as dedicated to the message as we…

Sunday morning at the Casa, and for once in a long while, the rain is gone. Dad and I had defected to the twin bed in Zach's old room, only to wake this morning to find Claire and Ajax had set up shop as well; that's just fine, as it will be us, not them, on the motorcycle later this afternoon. When dad's dad began his decline into the depths of dementia, it became necessary…

Dad wonders how I know, but I know; he thinks it might be the difference between khakis and kevlar, or shoelaces and velcro, but that's not it. It's not what clothes that he puts on that makes me lose my mind, but the vibe his soul gives off. Because I know that we're going for a motorcycle ride! This knowledge causes a switch to literally flip in my brain, and I go into full "Chark"…

Dad here; after a few warm days at the Casa, winter has returned with a vengeance, causing the canines to refuse to leave the cozy confines of the bed. Of course, "cozy" could be a synonym for "claustrophobic" if one is the meat in the dog sandwich, but who am I to complain? It's obvious that I exist only to do the bidding of these hairy ingrates. I remember a few years back when I…

The darkest hour is always just before dawn, but even through the inky blackness, we can detect movement along the perimeter. The Marcoterrorist is up to his usual tactics, using the volume of mom's lumberjack activities(does OSHA know that she operates a sawmill at night? Is that even legal?) to cover the sound of his stealthy approach as he probes our defenses in search of a way of attack. By our defenses, I am implying…