Happy Mothers' Day, Part 2 (I.e., Happy Fathers' Day)

E.g., good job, dads, impregnating someone, your wife, perhaps. Newsflash: She did all the work.

As the proud father of an 11-year old (dog, or so, we think), my plans for today:

1. Construction begins and ends on The Moonpie Memorial Beef Rib Rack Smoker Plus Chamber Of Mysteries.
2. Setting one post with homemade L bracket into ceiling main cross beam. But let's try to do two.
3. Feel the love! (Or, in Moonpie's case, barely noticeable gratitude mixed with the utter joy only a dog can feel that no human language on earth has a word for. The latter is worth... that word.)

Pictures of progress to follow as I go through the magic of edit, depending on reliability of The Moonpie Memorial Beef Rib Rack Smoker Plus Chamber Of Mysteries.

Full Disclosure:
A. Once a week I go into town specifically to buy Moonpie the biggest rack of beef ribs I can find. I give her one first thing in the morning as a special treat. But since I've not been the best dad to her for the first 10 years, I aim to be the best for the next 10 years, please, god willing.
B. I don't know how the private sector is doing, but my family seems to be doing just fine. They don't have to have jobs, though one of the few things we all share is a scary work ethic (I was a very hard-working drunk), and they lead lives of relative leisure and want for nothing, and there's nothing they don't want. Oh, and, by the way, this is the case because of our Father.

Happy Fathers' Day.





"Moonpie. I'm tired. But it's a pretty good tired. Shall we see what the 4-1-1 is over there in Deadwood?"