Category: Life

My Dog Bit Santa on the A$$ – a new chapter

So Apparently… I Write Songs Now

Fun little story time. The original story can be found here – https://theinvolvedhusband.com/2023/11/28/the-challenge/ – but I’ll summarize with an update. Back in 2021, my friend Scott McWalter posted one of those harmless-looking, bucket list / life goals questions on social media. You know the kind — the ones that sneak up on you and make you take inventory of your creative life. I replied honestly. I had written:

magazine articles

short stories

stories that became radio dramas

stories being looked at for short films

how-to articles

product reviews

news articles…and on and on.

But there was one thing missing.I had never written a song.

Scott, being Scott, didn’t let that sit. He gave me an arbitrary but very real deadline — January 1st, 2022 — and challenged me to write one. At the time, it felt like a fun creative dare. Something to try, maybe fail at, and then move on. That little challenge turned into a song called “Country Cause of You.” That song was recorded by Rick Stavely and the incredible Tabor Creek band. Even wilder? It cracked the Top Ten on the Canadian Indie Country Countdown. Yeah. That happened. I still have moments where I shake my head at how a casual comment turned into something very real, very public, and very meaningful. It reminded me that sometimes we don’t avoid things because we can’t do them — we avoid them because we’ve simply never tried. Which brings me to why I’m writing this post. A New Chapter for The Involved Husband. Going forward, I’ll be sharing songs here — songs I’ve written, songs I’ve produced, and projects I’m involved in from the songwriting side of my creative life. This doesn’t replace the heart of The Involved Husband. If anything, it expands it. Being involved isn’t just about marriage, parenting, or showing up at home — it’s about saying yes to growth, creativity, and the unexpected paths that open up when someone challenges you to try something new. Sometimes that looks like learning how to better support your family. Sometimes it looks like writing a country song you never planned on writing — and watching it take on a life of its own. I have started a YouTube channel to collect some of these productions. “My Dog Bit Santa on the A$$ is the first one I’ve uploaded. I hope you enjoy, thanks for being here. More music coming soon.

“Stop eating your sister!”


I work with dogs for a living. A lot of dogs. Usually in the range of 100 per week. I spend an inordinate amount of time together in large groups and it’s really fun to watch the socialization of the group as they pick out friends and learn how to play together. I once read a study that compared dogs social skills and learning ability to that of a toddler and as such I have worked hard to treat them accordingly. I have also had great success with training and behavior control when treating the dogs more like children, setting boundaries and working within their level of understanding as opposed to trying to simply make them obey.
My spouse on the other hand, is a teacher and has spent many wonderful years in the elementary school system helping shape the young minds of tomorrow. One evening I was talking about one of the silly things I had said to a dog and she exclaimed “I’ve said that to my students too!”. This of course has lead to several very entertaining chats on the similarities between young children in class and our dog groups out on a hike.
Some expressions that we use are direct crossovers and their meanings leave very little room for doubt as to what’s happening.
“Did you just pee?” Is a question that can be directed at either a child or a dog at any time, with obvious meaning.
“Whats in your mouth?” And  “Dont eat that!” are outbursts that are closely related to each other and are often used in conjunction. It is however considered slightly more acceptable to physically pry something out of a dogs mouth as opposed to a child’s mouth.
Some of the less common sayings we discovered an overlap of between teaching and dog handling can sound a little strange when heard out of context. These include things like:
“Let her have it, there are enough sticks for everyone.” When either group is in the forest, someone will invariably determine that one stick is the SUPREME stick and it must be defended at all costs, up to and including a physical altercation. Trying to convince someone that a lesser stick is equally attractive is usually a futile battle.
Sibling rivalries is a noteworthy but expected dynamic with both children and dogs. The fact that we have both used the phrase “Stop eating your sister” come as more of a suprise.
“Are your ears just for decoration?” or any other phrase to denote the lack of listening ability is also very common between both groups that we interact with.
Of course there will always be a rebel who holds up the entire class: “Ok everybody has to wait. We can’t go until Stanley joins the group.”
More often than anyone would care to admit, we all know who “Stanley” is going to be on any given adventure. We can tell.
“Get in the van” and “get on the bus” are virtually interchangeable along with “I hope everyone went pee before we left”.  Whether it’s a dogs wilderness adventure or a child’s school field trip, someone always has to pee five minutes into the journey.
As we head off for our days adventure we can’t help but notice that some parents of either children or dogs have over packed,  with lunches perfectly measured out and tagged with the students or dogs names. They often send extra treats as well, with some sending enough “for the whole class”. Other parents might send a used plastic bag full of unrecognizable food, with the top knotted shut. We both keep extra food on hand for those who are sent without.
Both my teacher spouse and myself have to deal with multiple pupils with he same name. She has several ways of dealing with this, including approved nicknames or perhaps using a middle name to differentiate the students. With dogs we have the luxury of just referring to a physical trait tied to their name. For example, we may refer to  “Brown Callie” versus “Spotted Callie” with my dogs. This is not a socially acceptable way for her to refer to children.
On a more serious note, there is also a very strong overlap found in the effects of their home life on their daily behavior. If there’s a major change at home, we know. Breakups, new relations, new baby, a serious illness – every teacher knows when something has changed in the homelife of a student. We do too. A dogs behavior can change drastically if their schedule/routine/circle of people changes. I can see a dog acting out or behaving out of character and have a pretty good idea when there is some kind of conflict or major change in their life. Like children, dogs can really wear their heart on their sleeve.
One final point that isn’t talked about a lot but is worth noting to anyone considering a career in either elementary school teaching or dog handling: You will deal with more poop than you ever imagined. I promise.

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The Impression

There was a short wait to be seated for my wife and I at our favourite restaurant. As luck would have it, we ended up standing in the foyer beside a former coworker of mine, who I had not crossed paths with in the ten years since I had left the company.
The initial “Oh hey, how are you!?” was followed up with the usual what have you been up to, how’s the wife, how’s the kids conversation.
I learned that he had continued to work in the same industry but had, like myself, moved on to another company. Still married. His kids had graduated and are doing well. Normal small talk.
Before we had a chance to chat further we were interrupted by the waiter calling out that our table would be ready in one minute.
“Well I guess that’s our cue.” I said, signaling the beginning of the end of our conversation.
“It was great seeing you again!”
“You too!” I replied, “Glad you’re doing well!”
At that moment, what would have been a brief interaction, the likes of which we all have daily, became something more.
As I turned towards the seating area, the former coworker reached out and touched my arm.
“Oh hey, do you ever see…” he trailed off, struggling to come up with a name.
“Brandon?” I offered, the name of another fellow that had worked with us.
“No,not Brandon. Oh what the heck was his name,” he continued, “He sat at the desk at the end.”
I paused, now curious where the conversation was going, before clarifying, “The desk at the end, by the shop entrance?”
“Yeah,” he replied, “what the heck was his name? You’d remember him for sure, he was the nicest guy.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him. He was describing my desk. Half jokingly I said my own name.
“You mean Marty?”
His eyes widened and he nodded in agreement, “Yeah, Marty! I wonder how he’s doing?””
Just then the waiter gestured “Right this way sir.”
Unsure of how to answer my estranged coworker I just smirked and said, “Marty is great, I see him all the time.”
He seemed genuinely excited, “That’s fantastic. Say hi for me next time you see him. I always liked that guy!”
And with that my wife and I were off to our table.
I admit in the days that followed I probably spent too much time thinking about the somewhat odd interaction. How could someone I had worked with that closely not remember me? Should I be hurt?
Eventually one small part of the conversation jumped out at me:
“He was the nicest guy.”
Maya Angelou once said, ““people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” 
Someone I had worked beside every day for several years couldn’t remember my name, face, or much else about me really. But they thought of me as “the nicest guy”
I’m okay with that.

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The Challenge

I almost scrolled past the post. It was a normal “bucket list” kind of post that appears on all of our social media pages from time to time. The only reason I stopped this time was because it was a friend of mine whose opinion I respect that posted it and I usually enjoy his insights into life.
“When your ‘maybe someday’ list gets too long its time to act!” The post said, “I’m curious, what’s something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t gotten around to?”
I thought about it for a few moments before I responded:
“I’ve written many different things. Magazine articles, short stories, life blogs, product reviews, news articles, how-to articles, poems… but I’ve never written a song. I think that would be fun”
After hitting send I never put much further thought into it, until later when I received a notification that the original poster had replied. He gave me a challenge and an arbitrary date: “Ok” he directed, “you have until January 1st to write a song. Go!”
I kind of scoffed at the idea – I dont really have a musical bone in my body, I am not that great a dancer and my singing sends animals and small children running. These are not exactly the qualities one would look for in a songwriter.
Life was moslty normal after the seed was planted – for awhile. I kept the thought in the back of my head though, counting syllables and listening to the cadence and rhythm of songs on the radio as I went about my day. Soon enough I had an idea for a song.
The writing process was not unlike writing a short, poetic story – cadence and rhyme, making words fit, adding or subtracting syllables until it felt “right” and soon I had a pretty good outline. I used Google and found the beats per minute of some songs that were in a similar genre and Google also helped with the total word count expectations and song length. I learned about song structure and what a bridge was compared to a hook. It was a fun writing exercise that got me to think differently how words interacted with each other and I enjoyed it, tucking the final product into my “work in progress” notes folder where I assumed it would stay forever.
A few months went past and purely by luck I ended up talking with one of our local musicians who has had some successes with a few songs played on Canadian Country music airwaves across Canada. We got talking music and I brought up that I had written a song. It actually very nearly did not come up as I assume that every artist has a constant barrage of people telling them they have a song idea for them, the same as every comedian gets the “I’ve got a great topic for you” speech. I didn’t want to be that guy. Fortunately however the conversation flowed naturally towards those topics, and soon I found myself forwarding my song lyrics to him.
The following weeks we were in constant communication, sending ideas back and forth as we worked together to shape some other ideas he had been working on and I helped put together a song that he was having trouble getting to flow the way he wanted.
Through all of this I had another idea for a song that I had not yet shared with anyone. It tells the story of a country girl and how she lives a country girl life because of how her father raised her.  When I had it completed (lyrically at least) I forwarded it to him as well and asked what he thought of the new idea. The response was immediate: He loved it and he wanted it to be the first release from the new group he was assembling!
The new song fit very well as a duet and his new band had brought on a female singer as well so it was perfect timing. The band worked together to finalize the music beds and before I knew it I found myself sitting in a recording studio listening and watching as the producer worked his magic to mix levels and assemble the complete song. To hear the lyrics I had put together come alive in music is truly a breathtaking experience.
A date was picked for the “live” release of the song on a night that the band was booked into a local club. A film crew was on hand for footage for a short video about the song and we had many family and friends show up for the event.
The video also required dancers and since it was a father/daughter song it was decided that I would dance with my youngest daughter for the release.
I’m not sure there are words to accurately describe the feeling of dancing with one’s adult child to a live first-performance of a song that you wrote about a father and his daughter but it was completely surreal.
That song, titled “Country ‘Cause of You” was released on all streaming platforms and climbed to number eight on the Canadian independent country music chart.
Since then we have several other songs that I have lyrically composed, including one titled “Last Cold Beer”, which is also quickly climbing the Canadian Independent Country Music Countdown chart. All because someone made a post about trying something new, and followed it up with a challenge.
Right Turn Clyde.

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Imagine…

Imagine someone who is well loved and respected among their peers. A real asset to their career and an absolute joy to their coworkers. Maybe this is someone with children who are enjoying their own levels of accomplishments. Maybe they have small children that they are helping learn to walk or potty train. Perhaps their children are school age and need some support with their homework or advice on making friends. This person may even have successful adult children who they have nurtured, supported and helped mold into fine adults themselves.
Imagine that this person has friends that adore them. Friends who look forward to the next time they get to spend time together. Friends that would drop everything to help them whenever needed. Maybe this person gives freely of their own time, selflessly working with charities and fundraisers to help make the world a better place.
By all accounts this person is rich beyond monetary constraints, with family, friends, co-workers and others who love them.
Now imagine that this incredible person gets out of bed in the morning, steps on a small pad on the floor and then, in spite of everything they’ve accomplished and everyone in their lives who loves them, they base their entire self value on the number that pops up on that display.
Imagine.

What If

I recently come across a picture on social media that someone had snapped of an elderly gentleman standing in line at what appears to be a hardware store. This fellow had on a rather odd homemade-looking hat and a pair of rubber boots. He also wore a face mask. This photo was taken solely because of this gentleman’s appearance and posted in a “joking” manner. The post then received many responses, all laughing and making jokes about his choice of clothing and, of course, his face mask. This gentleman has zero knowledge of the whole post, or even that his picture was taken for that matter.
Here’s the thing – not one of the dozens of people poking fun at this gentleman knows anything about him, his life, or his circumstances that lead up to this moment. Instead of ridicule, I tried to imagine some possibilities of how his life’s voyage may have lead to this point: I thought about the “what ifs”.
What if his wife of 60 years has just undergone cancer treatment and is in bed recovering at home and if she catches so much as cold right now it could kill her. This gentleman may not scientifically know if the mask will help but it certainly can’t hurt and he’s damn sure going to do everything he can to protect his sick wife. Perhaps he had slipped on his comfy old rubber boots simply because they were easy to put on. Maybe he fondly thinks back to his favourite dress shoes and how hard they were for his old work hardened bones to get on and tie up. What if the last time he wore those dress shoes was to his best friends funeral last year. That was before his wife and taken ill, and at that time she had knelt in front of him, lovingly cinching the laces that his arthritic hands were no longer capable of tightening. What if the memory had reminded him that he needed to find some kind of slip on shoes to wear, but he hadnt gotten around to it. He hated shopping for shoes. For now, his boots would do.
And how about that hat? That floppy, oddly shapen hat. Maybe it was sewn by the man’s granddaughter, and he thinks she had done a fine job for an 8 year old. He remembers how she told him that the hat “makes you so pretty grampa!”. His son and daughter inlaw had seperated shortly after she made the hat, and they had moved away. He hadn’t seen his granddaughter in person for two years now, but he still liked to wear the hat – he misses her so much. And now here he is, standing in line waiting for help with a mounting bracket for the TV. He needs it to swivel so his wife can watch her favourite show from whichever side of the bed she is on while she recovers. Right now thier favourite program is a reality baking competition. His wife is a fantastic baker and her cookies and cakes are delicious. He hopes that one day she is able to stand long enough to bake him a fresh batch again. Until then he will just wait patiently in line, minding his own business – while you laugh at his clothing.
I bet he doesn’t give a shit what you think.

I’m Sorry

I curled up in my kennel and waited for someone – anyone – to come and visit me. It had been a whirlwind couple of days but here, alone in the quiet with nothing but white walls and cold cement around me, I am able to reflect. I had been so happy, with good food and lots of playtime. My owner loved me so much and we used to go on walks to the park every day. I don’t know why she kept throwing the ball but I always ran to fetch it for her, returning it in exchange for love and praise – only for her to accidentally drop it for me to fetch again. Sometimes it flew so far when she dropped it! This was our favourite game and we spent hours in the sunshine, just the two of us and our precious ball.
When the little new person came into our lives I knew it was someone special. I was always so gentle with this tiny little person. It seemed to cry a lot so I knew I had to help to take care of it. The new little person was named Lucy and she would quickly become my favourite human. I watched her as she grew to where she could crawl on all fours, and soon even walk on her back two legs, a trick I never quite mastered! Her new found mobility really made our playtime more fun and Lucy and I grew to be best friends. I really had the greatest life with my loving owner and my little buddy who cuddled me as I watched her fall asleep every night.
One day we had a new person come to our house. I named this one “Bad Person”. Bad Person never liked me and was only nice while other people were around. When we were alone, Bad Person was mean to me. Sometimes dragging me by the collar to throw me outside. Sometimes Bad Person even hurt me. I hate Bad Person.
The thought of Bad Person has made me uncomfortable so I stand up and turn in a tiny circle in my cramped quarters. This kennel really makes me miss my little best friend’s bed. I put my head on my paws and sigh again, my thoughts turning back to the recent events.
I had been sleeping on the couch when I felt something touch my tail. Before I was fully awake my tail was yanked hard, almost pulling me off the couch. It must be Bad Person! This time it has gone too far! Enough! I turned and snapped, vowing to show Bad Person I wasn’t to be messed with! Except it wasn’t Bad Person at all. It was my little Lucy! I knew I had done something wrong the moment Lucy screamed. I was so confused, I ran to hide as my owner was yelling and the screaming continued. It was all a blur. How could I hurt my precious Lucy! I would die for her! How could I be so stupid! I had been so sure it was Bad Person behind me! 
My thoughts are broken again, this time by voices and footsteps coming down the hall. People! I need to show them how sorry I am! How I will love my little Lucy forever!
The white coats appear and I realize it is not my owner, or my Lucy, coming to see me. I had made such a mistake, my own people do not love me anymore – they wont even come and visit me. I peer up through the bars and try to muster a small tail wag.
The kennel door is opened and one of the white coats coaxes me out. This one seems nice enough, the voice is soothing. I recognize “good boy” out of the jumble of words. Suddenly I feel the small prick of a needle in my leg – I’ve had enough shots to know that needles are ok so it doesn’t bother me. Maybe if I’m brave and be good my people will come back?
This needle makes me feel funny right away though – not like the others. Suddenly I am so sleepy. I need to lay my head down for a short nap. I hope that when I wake up my people will be there again. It’s so cold and lonely here. As I close my eyes and let the darkness wash over me I have one final thought. “I’m sorry I hurt you Lucy. I love you.”

Grow Long and Prosper

Everyone I know enjoys that quiet time at the end of the day when you get to relax. You know the time – a long work day is done, dinner is done, chores are done and you get to curl up in bed with your spouse and watch a movie or your favourite series on TV. So relaxing! I was enjoying just such an evening when one tiny error changed my life. You see, I forgot to shut the closet light off. Normally not a big deal, except – the closet light caught my face just right and my charming wife noticed that I had a long eyebrow hair that was a little rogue. She sat bolt upright and said she had tweezers handy and would (I quote) “just pop it out quick”. In hindsight I now realize that the look on her face upon spotting this renegade hair was the same look of excitement a wolf gets when it spots a defenseless bunny casually eating a dandelion – and, like the bunny, I was oblivious to the horror about to befall me.  Naively I thought “sure why not” after all she plucks them on herself all of the time and I’ve seen her do it without even flinching. At this point I really believed that she was being helpful. It turns out that she was actually plotting a form of medieval torture – and she had the audacity to look me straight in the eye with a smile when she said I would hardly feel it.
I laid back and closed my eyes while she leaned in with her dainty little tweezers and grabbed a hold of this hair that somehow had pissed her off. She gave a quick little trial tug and I started to have doubts: not only did the hair not come out, but it was far from “hardly noticeable”. In fact it kinda hurt, but I wasn’t going to let her know. I cracked open one eye slightly to peek and watched in growing concern as she pushed her sleeves up and leaned in again, now wielding the tweezers with a white knuckle grip and a crazed look of evil glee in her eye – I began to worry more.
She took hold of this sad, innocent hair again and said “ok, on three – one, two…” and yanked! On two!! I opened my mouth to tell her that she cheated but before I could speak the burn set in. Now, when I say “burn” what I mean is it kind of felt like she had hit me in the face with a shovel. Since my mouth was already open to call her out on her cheating, there was nothing to get in the way of the scream that followed. While the neighbors were undoubtedly locking their doors and preparing to call 911 to report the bloodcurdling cry, I panicked and clamped my hand over my eye, assumedly to stem the flow of blood. I quickly looked to see if she had ripped my entire brow off of my face or only half of it – but no, the tweezers were clean. Expecting to see blood sprayed across her face I glanced at her next, her lip curled back maniacally shouting “I got it!” with a purely evil Dr Frankenstein expression. At least I think she said “I got it” – she may have said “It’s Alive!!” I honestly expected to hear lightning and thunder outside of the laboratory…err, house.
It is at this time I realized that the particular hair she was so angry with must have been very long indeed as it obviously had its root firmly implanted in my backside. That’s right, I am 100% convinced that she had just pulled a hair from my ass out through my face. That is the only possible explanation for the depth that I can feel this pain.

The tears were still streaming down my face and the full shock was just setting in when I think she said that she had spotted another one. I’m not sure; I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of her sentence.

If anyone needs me, I have currently locked myself in the closet until she falls asleep. If anyone knows a good therapist please give them my number.

Seasonal Pillows

I recently had a friend ask if we had “seasonal pillows” in our house. After a brief discussion, I learned that there are people who change out their cushions to match the colours or themes of the seasons and holidays throughout the year. This got me thinking about our humble couch and I realized that we have seasonal pillows as well:

During the summer our pillows are bright and warm, perhaps even starting to fade a little as the sunshine beats through the windows onto them. These cushions are a deep, natural green – and they are covered in dog hair.

During the dark and cold of winter we have pillows that are soft and cozy, lit up by a flicker of orange from the wood stove, the perfect place to sit with a cup of hot cocoa while the snow falls outside. These winter cushions are a warm, comforting green -and they are covered in dog hair.

At Thanksgiving the cushions transform into extra seating for family, with the smell of turkey and stuffing and ham and pie spread throughout the room. The Thanksgiving pillows are an inviting green colour, perfect for visiting with family – and they are covered in dog hair.

At Halloween they transform again, holding up skeletons and witches or perhaps stuffing a costume that needs filling out. They provide a place of rest for little ghosts and goblins to sit and sort candy, happily examining and organizing every piece of the evenings treasure haul. These Halloween cushions are a dark, haunting green – and they are covered in dog hair.

My favourite seasonal pillows however, are the Christmas pillows. These cushions are full of laughter and love as family and friends sit together and catch up on the year that has passed. They often smell of candles and fresh baking. They often smell of Ham and potatoes and butter and bread. They can be covered in crumpled up wrapping paper, or used as a seat on the floor on Christmas morning. They are lit up by the glow of lights from the tree, reds and blues and yellows and greens all twinkling across their surface. Beneath the shimmering lights of the season, these Christmas cushions are a rich, festive green – and they are covered in dog hair.

I love our seasonal pillows.

I See You

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In the darkness, I am watching. I see your face as it relaxes as you let out a soft snore, only to be pulled back in a grimace as the pain rears up again. I watch as you roll from side to side, asleep but not really, searching for a position where your body will be comfortable. I watch as you finally doze off again, lying on my arm this time, your breathing finally settled into a calm, easy rhythm. The tingles as my arm goes numb tells me that I should move but I dare not for fear of interrupting what few moments of peaceful slumber you do get. There it is, perhaps three or four minutes pass this time before your legs decide they need to move. Your brow furrows and your lips pull taught as you shift again, still convinced, or at least hopeful, that a new position will bring comfort. I check the clock; I know you were up long past me, waiting for the exhaustion to finally overpower the pain and allow sleep to come. The nights are not always this bad but when they are I can only lie here and try to not disrupt you. Its nights like this that make it impossible for you to have solid plans on any given day – I know tomorrow morning will not be a pleasant one for you. The pain coupled with the lack of sleep will combine to keep you away from doing many of the things you love. If I, or most people for that matter, have a bad night’s sleep we struggle through the day, complain and maybe joke about it a little before looking forward to the next night. You don’t look forward to the next night however. The quiet and the darkness only mean a lack of distraction so the pain may have the spotlight again; the pain demands it in fact. As I struggle with my own helplessness my thoughts are broken by you releasing another tortured moan. I look over again to see your lips pulled back with agony once more. Your forehead creased in frown as you again shift position, arms and legs stretching, searching for comfort and relief. Your face is so good at smiling all day, the rest of the world oblivious to your struggle, the constant pain, the inability to do many of the tasks that you used to. I often wonder how you do it, how you manage to fight this war daily. Your face has become a master at hiding it all. During this quiet time however, in the middle of the night while the world still sleeps, you let down your guard. The mask is off, there is no more disguise and the battle is real. I see you.