It is the first Saturday of football season and its time for my dog to don his sweater of U of M green and orange, and practice the Hurricane howl.
“Be a good boy,” I say to Cane, but only manage to put his left paw through the right hole and right through the left, his barks and yips attempting to imitate my authentic wolf howl.
When he tumbles over I hand him over to my wife who correctly puts his feet through the appropriate holes but in the aqua jersey reserved for Miami Dolphin Sundays.
Cane is parkour-ing from couch to Lazy Boy and back, a blue wave that should be green rolling under the footrest trying to remove the meddlesome garment.
My wife lowers herself into the Lazy Boy, 85‑inch screen blazing, Super Nachos held overhead like a fragile trophy.
Cane launches himself on to her, a perfect spiral between the goalposts of her legs that shakes loose a few chips and jalapeño slices.
My wife hands me the messed up nachos, attempts to wipe off a half plate of salsa verde and chili con carne from her stomach and Cane’s back.
On screen the green receiver receives the kickoff, gets to the ten.. thirty.. fifty..
The tv switches to the Yankees vs the Padres. Cane has rolled over the remote again. It has wedged itself intractably between the metal jaws of my Lazy Boy. in a way only my wife can remove it without breaking.
My wife is giving Cane belly rubs singing “Bongo, Bongo, Bongo!.” He emits a perfect howl with each rhythmic hand tap.
I grimace and roll my eyes.
This season is off to a bad start. Yet, I refuse to give up on my National Championship aspirations. If I must I will settle for the Sunday pros striving and achieving the number one draft pick.
By the way The Padres beat The Yankees. As for the green and orange the knowledge of their victory will elude me until the Sunday digital edition posts.
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