Six Dogs, Two Cats, and a Partridge in a Palm Tree…

It’s cramped but lovely living, I tell you. Okay, “lovely” might be overstating it a bit—I cannot wait until my VA Loan preapproval comes forth. Not that “love” isn’t in the equation… Of that there is no doubt. However, it is a bit cramped living in a one-bedroom with all the wildlife and whatnot.

A word to the wise—do not, I repeat, do NOT—ever get an all-white apartment. If you do happen to find yourself staring at an all-white apartment, note the way the stove is also painted white—and not in appliance paint. And the toilet. The walls go without saying—they are, indeed, also painted. White. As are the tiles. Well, in truth, the tiles should be white. What they are in reality is an off-white due to the amount of sand and dirt the Florida environment decides the bottom of your feet, sandals, flip-flops and shoes should be dragging around to all points indoors. Not to mention the hair shed by two cats and six dogs…

SIX dogs! you’re thinking. Are you NUTS!? Well, yes. But not bad-nuts, unlike some stupid, idiotic, assholed, dick-faced couple who was using their dog for either dog-fighting or baiting (i.e., using her as bait to train other dogs for fighting). She found an escape and found herself in B.E.D.’s carport, where he found her bleeding, legs gashed open, blood pouring from her wounds, abandoned and lonely and crying…

Being normal human beings (unlike her previous owners), he brought her home and she has begun the healing process, both in terms of physical health, but emotionally learning to trust humans and other dogs again… She has also been dubbed Brunhilde, Visigoth Princess of legend, and who’s name also means “battle armor” or “warrior princess,” depending on which baby-names website you prefer… (It should be noted, I had no idea her name would mean such a thing—I simply thought it sounded like a nice, strong, German name, for her strength and grace in the face of such adversity!) Be that as it may, my mother now has one more grand dog to add to the growing list of the Noah’s Ark-like-life of pets her children own…

Speaking of children…

The B.E.D. and I have also started the long and winding process of foster-parenthood. Or to become adoptive dad’s, depending on how you look at it. Florida having some of the ass-backward laws that it does, we both can’t be the adoptive father’s, so we’ll just have to take turns once the classes have ended and the child-care advocates have started knocking on our door—a door, it should be noted, that will not lead into the interior of a one-bedroom, all-white apartment just outside of Wilton Manors…

Just one more month until the pre-approval comes in for the mortgage…

The classes themselves are a hoot! Between the role-playing, the other couples on the road to foster-parenthood, the teachers and social workers we’re getting to know… It’s definitely worth giving up at least five Saturdays in a row, if only for the making of new friends with common goals and wants in life. (It should be noted here, not that my old and other new friends are lacking in any way, shape or form, FYI…) Of course, there will be further classes to take, hopefully not within the confines of a stuffy, Baptist-church basement, but we’ll cross that bridge when we cross that bridge. Due to the types of children B.E.D. and I are wishing to help and adopt, there will be several other courses after this one, but I’m sure it’ll all be worth it in the end!

I’m finally facing fatherhood…

And I’m terribly excited. Partially because, unlike pets, they’ll one day go off to college and (hopefully!) become productive members of society, whom I can pass on my values and life lessons, teach and guide and be there for in ways that partners and pets don’t require. Of course, also not like pets, they’ll talk back. Unlike pets, however, they’ll (hopefully!) use the toilets! Also dissimilar to pets, they’ll come with their own sets of values and morals—but that is not something to cringe at. It’ll be another life experience, a chance to expand my own horizons and challenge my own thoughts, to continue to embrace the diversity of human thinking and behavior…

Is it bad that I am hoping, however, that none of them want to grow up to be pastors or priests or rabbis? As long as they’re happy, of course, I’ll be happy… But their ultimate choice of profession…?

Ach, who the fuck cares, right? Parents and caretakers have been shaking their head’s at their children’s choices of profession for years… Why should I waste a thought on that?

I just want to raise children who will learn to be content, be productive, and use the toilet…

I don’t think that’s asking too much… Do you?

It’ll be cramped but lovely living…