Category: Life

I Saw David Lee Roth. And I’m Glad I Did

I’ve been reading some of the online comments about David Lee Roth’s recent performances, and honestly, some of them are fucking brutal. And I get it. I really do.

But here’s the thing: David Lee Roth is 71 years old. If you walked into a David Lee Roth concert expecting to see the exact same guy who jumped onto a stage in 1984, did the splits four feet in the air, spun around like a human helicopter, and sang every note at the top of his lungs… I don’t know what to tell you – Maybe set your expectations in life a little more reasonably.

Like a lot of people my age, I grew up with Van Halen. The 1984 era Van Halen didn’t just make music – they made the soundtrack to a generation:

Jump. Panama. Hot for Teacher.Those songs are burned into the brains of people my age. You hear the opening notes and you’re a teenager again, standing in your bedroom, sitting in your buddy’s car, or cranking the stereo way louder than your parents wanted. I arguably took it a little further than many as I also followed David Lee Roth after Van Halen, through his solo career. Crazy from the Heat. Eat ‘Em and Smile. Skyscraper. Just Like Paradise. A Little Ain’t Enough. I followed Dave.

And no, before you start, I’m not going to get into the whole David Lee Roth versus Sammy Hagar debate. That’s been beaten to death for decades. Sammy Hagar-era Van Halen was fan-freakin-tastic music. But it was a different band in my world, and I don’t think the two need to be compared. They were different eras, different personalities, different songs, and different versions of one of the greatest rock bands ever.

So when I went to see Diamond Dave this summer, I wasn’t expecting to see 1984 David Lee Roth. I was expecting to see 2026 David Lee Roth – and that’s what I got. Was the performance a little off the wall? Absolutely. Did he sound like he did back in the day? No. But let’s be brutally honest, he was never that great a singer in his heyday by comparison to many anyway – he was a showman. And he still is a showman. Did he move like he used to? No. Could he do all the things he did when he was 25 or 30? Of course not. And you know what? Neither can I. I’m guessing neither can most of the people sitting in that audience, either. That’s the part I don’t understand about some of the criticism. We’re watching a 71-year-old icon on stage and criticizing him because he isn’t performing like the 30-year-old version of himself that exists in our memories. Well, I’m not the same person I was at 30. And neither are you.

At some point, the people we grew up watching start getting old. And if you were old enough to remember David Lee Roth in his absolute heyday, then congratulations. You’re getting old too. That’s not an insult. It’s just math. And maybe that’s where some of the vitriol comes from. Maybe you’re not really angry at David Lee Roth. Maybe you’re angry at the fact that time is passing. Because seeing someone like Dave on stage is a reminder that the people who seemed larger than life when we were young are now in their seventies, and it’s a stark reminder of our own mortality.

But somewhere in the middle of that concert, I figured something out. I was watching Dave on stage, and he was looking out at the crowd. Smiling. Not the cocky, larger-than-life Diamond Dave grin we’ve all seen a million times. This was different. There was emotion there. You could see it on his face, and for a moment, it looked like he was fighting back tears. And then I believe he explained the entire reason he was standing there.

He lifted the mic, slowly shook his head and said “I miss this, man. I fucking miss this.”

In that moment, I understood exactly why he was there. David Lee Roth isnt out there touring because he needs the money. He’s out there because he loves performing. Because this is what he’s done for most of his life. He’s out there because he misses it.

He misses the stage.

He misses the noise.

He misses the people.

And honestly? I think that’s fucking beautiful.

So if you bought a ticket expecting him to hit every note perfectly, perform every dance move like he did in 1984, and launch himself into the splits four feet in the air…I’m sorry. You didn’t go to see David Lee Roth. You went looking for a time machine. And they don’t sell those at the merch booth.

I went to see an icon. I went to see a guy who helped write the soundtrack to my youth. I went to see the man behind songs that have been part of my life for more than four decades. And I got to see him standing on a stage at 71 years old, still doing the thing he loves. Was it perfect? No. But neither is getting old. Neither is life. And maybe that’s the point.

We spend so much of our lives wanting everything to stay exactly the same. We want our heroes to stay young. We want our bodies to stay young. We want our parents to stay healthy. We want our kids to stay little. But that’s not how any of this works. Time keeps moving. And eventually, all we can really do is decide what we’re going to do with the time we’ve got left. David Lee Roth decided he wanted to spend some of his doing what he loves – Standing on a stage looking out at people who grew up with his music. And when I saw that emotion on his face and heard him say, “I fucking miss this, man,” I got it.

I was glad I was there. Because I didn’t see a 71-year-old David Lee Roth pretending to be 25. I saw a 71-year-old David Lee Roth who still just wanted to be David Lee Roth.

I saw an idol.

I saw a piece of my youth standing on a stage in front of me.

And I saw a man who knows that time is running, just like the rest of us.

So, Diamond Dave…Thank you. Thank you for the music. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for the crazy. And thank you for getting back on that stage. I hope you keep doing it for as long as you fucking want to.

M.

Stories with a Soundtrack

If you had told me five years ago that I’d be spending this much time writing songs, I’d probably have laughed.Actually, I definitely would have laughed. At you. Openly. I would have lost a lot of money if you had laid bets too. Dont get me wrong, writing has always been part of who I am. Stories, magazine articles, newspaper columns, product reviews, radio dramas, blog posts… if there was a way to tell a story using words, chances are I had tried it or I wanted to. Songwriting was the one box that remained unchecked until a friend challenged me to write just one song. (If you haven’t heard that story, see previous blogs). That “one song” turned into Country Cause of You. Then another. Then another. Somewhere along the way I stopped thinking of songwriting as something I was experimenting with and started realizing it had quietly become part of who I am. What surprised me most wasn’t that I enjoyed writing songs. It was discovering just how incredibly powerful music is. A story can make you laugh. A story can make you cry. A story can make you stop scrolling for five minutes and think about your own life. But when you wrap those same words in music, something changes. Music has this amazing ability to slip past all the walls we build. A melody can make a lyric hit harder. A single note can carry emotion that would take three paragraphs to explain. Sometimes a chorus says more in thirty seconds than I could ever write in a thousand words. That’s what keeps drawing me back. I don’t write songs because I expect everyone to love them. I write because I hope someone out there feels something. Maybe they laugh. Maybe they cry. Maybe they stop for a moment and think about someone they love, something they’ve lost, or a choice they need to make. If a song can do that for even one person, it was worth writing. Lately, that creative journey has grown into two very different musical projects that Carla and I have been building together. Backcountry Bandits gives us the freedom to tell stories about the people and places that shape us. Sometimes those stories are funny. Sometimes they’re about life in the outdoors or the kind of adventures that become legends around the campfire. But other times they’re deeply personal. Our first release, The People Others Have, is a tribute to the quiet heroes who show up, help others, and never ask for recognition. It’s a reminder that the people who make the biggest difference are often the ones nobody notices. Whether we’re making people laugh or wiping away a tear, the goal is always the same: tell honest stories that connect with people. Feral Warrior lets us explore a different side of storytelling. It’s darker, heavier, and often more introspective, drawing inspiration from mythology, resilience, grief, strength, and the battles people fight – both around them and within themselves. Songs like Better Men Than You ask listeners to look beyond ego and remember that history has always been filled with people who came before us, overcame more than we can imagine, and left the world better than they found it.Oddly enough, both projects come from exactly the same place – storytelling. One looks at the world through the lens of everyday life. The other looks through the lens of legend. But both are really about people. Working on these projects together has become one of my favourite parts of writing life. Carla has an incredible ear for what a song needs, and we’ve spent countless hours throwing ideas back and forth, rewriting lyrics, debating melodies, laughing at terrible first drafts, and occasionally wondering if we’re both completely insane. It’s been one heck of a ride – and we’re just getting started. If you’d like to hear what we’ve been creating, I’d love for you to start by listening to these two songs:

The People Others Have by Backcountry Bandits is a tribute to the everyday heroes who quietly make the world a better place without ever expecting recognition.

Better Men Than You by Feral Warrior is a reminder that no matter how accomplished we think we are, there’s wisdom in humility and in recognizing the perils of a woman scorned.

Follow and subscribe to our channels on your favourite streaming service link below to keep up with all of the new releases coming this summer ❤️

Backcountry Bandits listen here ▶️

Feral Warrior listen here ▶️

Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years or you’ve just stumbled across this little corner of the internet, thank you. The words may have found a new melody…but they’re still trying to do exactly what they’ve always done: Make people feel something. And hey, if you find yourself tapping your toe and singing along, that’s even better.

Service Dogs and Public Access in BC

Ok folks, sit down, buckle up and grab a coffee. There have been some posts recently that are so full of misinformation that one has to shake their head, so lets try and clarify a few things. There is a growing misunderstanding in Canada – and especially in British Columbia – about the difference between emotional support dogs, therapy dogs, and legitimate certified service dogs.
For many people, a dog is simply a beloved pet. But for someone who depends on a true service dog, that animal is not a luxury, a comfort item, or a trend. It is independence. It is safety. It is mobility. It is freedom.
As someone who understands what a real service dog means to its handler, I think the public often fails to realize how devastating it can be when a poorly trained pet, fake “service dog,” or uncontrolled animal interferes with a working dog team.
A guide dog leading a blind handler through traffic is not just “a dog allowed in a store.” That dog is functioning as that person’s eyes. A seizure-alert dog may be the only warning someone receives before collapsing. A mobility assistance dog may help someone stand, retrieve medication, or open doors. These dogs are highly trained medical tools wrapped in fur.
And when something happens to one of these animals, the consequences are life-changing.
The Three Types of Dogs People Often Confuse:
1. Service Dogs (Including Guide Dogs)
In British Columbia, guide dogs and service dogs are legally recognized under the Guide Dog and Service Dog Act. These dogs are specifically trained to perform tasks directly related to a person’s disability.
Examples include:
Seeing-eye dogs for blind or visually impaired handlers
Seizure-alert dogs
Hearing dogs
Mobility assistance dogs
Psychiatric service dogs trained to perform specific tasks
A real service dog is not simply comforting its owner. It is trained to actively work.
In B.C., certification can occur through accredited schools or by passing a provincial public safety assessment. The province also recognizes dogs trained through accredited organizations such as Assistance Dogs International (ADI) and the International Guide Dog Federation (IGDF).
Under B.C. law, certified service dogs have public access rights and tenancy protections. Businesses generally cannot deny entry to legitimate service dog teams.
2. Therapy Dogs
Therapy dogs are very different.
These dogs are usually brought into hospitals, schools, care homes, or crisis situations to provide comfort to other people. The dog is helping the public – not specifically assisting its handler with a disability.
A therapy dog may be calm, gentle, and well-trained, but therapy dogs do not have the same legal public access rights as certified service dogs in British Columbia.
A therapy dog cannot simply enter any store or restaurant because it wears a vest.
3. Emotional Support Animals (ESAs)
This is where much of the confusion begins.
An emotional support animal provides companionship and emotional comfort to its owner, but it is not trained to perform disability-related tasks in the way a service dog is.
British Columbia specifically states that emotional support animals are not eligible for certification under provincial service dog legislation.
That means:
An ESA does not automatically have public access rights
A store is not legally required to allow an ESA inside
An online certificate or vest does not make a dog a legal service dog
This distinction matters enormously.
Unfortunately, many websites now sell fake “service dog registrations,” vests, and certificates online. These documents often look official, but in British Columbia they generally have no legal standing. This has created confusion for businesses and frustration for legitimate service dog handlers.
Even many online discussions within B.C. communities point out how fake service dogs damage public trust and create access problems for legitimate handlers.
Why Fake Service Dogs Are Such a Serious Problem
Some stores are very pet-friendly today. Many businesses choose to allow dogs voluntarily, which is their right. But problems arise when people bring uncontrolled animals into public spaces and falsely claim they are service dogs.
A poorly behaved dog can:
– Bark at a working service dog
– Lunge at it
– Distract it during critical tasks
– Cause fear or stress
– Injure the service dog physically or psychologically
To the average person, it may seem like “just dogs being dogs” or “just a distraction.”
But to a service dog handler, it can mean losing independence overnight.
If a seeing-eye dog becomes fearful after an attack, it may no longer be safe to guide a blind handler through traffic. If a medical-alert dog loses focus after repeated aggressive encounters, its handler could lose critical warning time during a medical emergency.
Many professionally trained service dogs cost tens of thousands of dollars to raise and train. Training often takes years.
When a service dog is washed out due to trauma or injury, the handler may lose mobility,  safety,  confidence and the freedom to travel independently.
And then comes the waiting period for another trained service dog – sometimes months or even years.
Imagine going from confidently navigating the world alone to needing help crossing streets, shopping, or commuting because someone’s uncontrolled pet attacked your working dog in a grocery store.
That is the reality many service dog handlers fear every day.
What the Law Says in British Columbia
Under B.C.’s Guide Dog and Service Dog Act:
It is an offence to falsely represent a dog as a guide dog or service dog
Violations can result in fines of up to $3,000
Interfering with or harming a guide or service dog is also an offence under provincial law
Businesses also have rights.
If any dog – including a legitimate service dog – is disruptive, aggressive, or uncontrolled, a business may ask the handler to leave.
Real service dogs are trained to remain calm, quiet, and focused in busy environments. That level of training is one reason legitimate service dogs are held to such high standards.
Respect the Difference
Most people love their dogs. Many people genuinely benefit emotionally from having an animal companion. There is nothing wrong with that.
But there is a major difference between:
“My dog comforts me,” and
“My dog is medically trained to help me function safely in daily life.”
That distinction is not about gatekeeping or elitism. It is about protecting people whose lives genuinely depend on these animals.
A legitimate service dog team already faces enough obstacles — access challenges, public questioning, distractions, and safety concerns. Fraudulent service dog claims only make those challenges worse.
At the end of the day, a true service dog is not simply a pet wearing a vest. It is often the difference between dependence and independence, isolation and mobility, fear and freedom. If your dog helps you in your day to day life that is fantastic, I am so happy for that. BUT if you have ordered a service vest off of Amazon and / or payed a few hundred bucks for an online certificate, you DO NOT HAVE A CERTIFIED SERVICE DOG. I honestly believe some people are scammed by this, and they believe they are certified. The public access certification is a very strict, comprehensive test that is very hard to pass and takes a lot of training and dedication to achieve. In the province of BC there is no way to fill out a questionnaire and recieve certification online. You are in fact breaking the law and you are causing problems for actual certified service dogs.
Thank you for coming to my dog-talk.

Respect

“Come on,” Dave sneered at the old man. “That’s all you’ve got? Pathetic.”
The bag of soil didn’t budge.
Dave laughed under his breath, shaking his head like he was embarrassed for someone else. “You’re kidding me. This is where you tap out? A bag of dirt?”
The old man grabbed it again, yanked hard. It lifted just enough to prove a point – then dropped.
“Wow,” Dave scoffed. “You’re actually that weak now.”
Behind him, Dave’s wife exhaled sharply. “Hey – knock it off.”
He ignored her completely.
“Look at you,” he went on, voice sharper, nastier. “Hands shaking like you’ve got no control. Can’t even hold a grip. What happened? You forget how your own hands work?”
The old man flexed his fingers in front of him like he was inspecting someone else’s failure.
They trembled anyway.
“Yeah,” Dave muttered. “Thought so.”
“Enough,” his wife said, firmer now.
“No,” he shot back. “Someone’s gotta say it.”
He kicked the bag lightly. “You think you’re still the same guy? You think you can just power through everything like before?”
He bent again, grabbed the bag, strained – his arms shaking harder now – but it barely moved.
“Look at that,” he said, a cold laugh slipping out. “Can’t lift. Can’t hold. What’s next, forgetting why you even came out here? Standing around like an idiot trying to remember your own name?”
The words kept coming, faster, crueler.
“Face all lined up with wrinkles, back bent, hands useless, brain slipping – what exactly are you hanging onto? Pride? That’s gone too.”
The bag slipped again and hit the ground.
Hard.
The old man stayed there, breathing heavier, staring down like he’d just proven something.
Then, quieter, conceding
“Just… worn out. Past your prime. Nothing left.”
Dave’s wife stepped closer. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Dave didn’t answer.
He straightened slowly, one hand pressing into his lower back. The other rose to his temple, rubbing like he was trying to keep something from falling apart.
“First thing to go is memory,” he muttered. “Little stuff. Names. Why you walked into a room.”
“Dave…” she said, aggravated.
“Then strength,” he continued, like he was explaining it to someone who refused to get it. “Then balance. Then you’re just… in the way.”
She moved right in front of him. “Stop it.”
That landed.
He didn’t argue.
His eyes dropped to his hands.
Still shaking.
To the bag at his feet.
Unmoved.
Then slowly… to the his reflection in the truck window.
Lined.
Older.
Him but not him anymore.
His jaw tightened.
“I thought if I said it first…” he said quietly, the edge gone now. “…it wouldn’t feel like it was happening to me.”
Silence stretched.
He kept staring at his reflection.
At the man he’d just torn to pieces.
“That’s you,” he said under his breath.
The words didn’t cut anymore.
They just sat there.
Heavy.
His wife stepped closer, her voice firm but steady.
“You wouldn’t talk to anyone else like that,” she said. “So quit doing it to yourself.”
He swallowed hard, eyes still locked on his reflection.
“Look at me,” she said.
He didn’t want to, but he did.
“That man you’re talking about?” she said. “He raised a family. He built a life from nothing. He worked through injuries, through long days, through years most people would’ve quit.”
Dave’s eyes flickered.
“He’s still here,” she continued. “He still shows up. He still tries. You think that counts for nothing?”
He swallowed.
“You’ve got grandkids who light up when they see you,” she said. “Who don’t care how fast you move or how much you can lift. They just want you.”
Her voice softened – but didn’t lose its strength.
“You still fix things. You still teach. You still make people feel safe just by being around. That didn’t disappear because a bag of soil didn’t move.”
Dave looked back at his reflection.
It didn’t look as small now.
Still older.
Still worn.
But not… empty.
“You’re so busy tearing yourself down,” she said, “you can’t even see what’s still standing.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, barely a whisper
“…Yeah.”
Dave stood up a bit straighter.

Were all Just Passin’ Through

There’s a strange, quiet reckoning that comes with getting older – one that doesn’t arrive all at once, but creeps in gradually. It is hidden in the comfort of familiar faces that once felt immortal.
If you, like me, were born anywhere around 1970, then the 80s weren’t just a decade – they were a proving ground. A time when music felt louder, movies felt bigger, and the people on our screens and in our stereos felt untouchable. They weren’t just entertainers, they were larger than life. Indestructible. Permanent.
And now, as time goes by, one by one they’re going, going, gone.
When a musician or actor from our youth passes away, the grief hits differently than it used to. It’s not just about them anymore. Not really. Of course, we feel it – we remember the scenes, the lines, the moments burned into our memory. Heck, a full half of my vocabulary is made up of 80s movie quotes and song lyrics. Underneath that however is something deeper, something harder to quantify. It’s the realization that time didn’t stop where we hoped it did. Back then, those people represented a kind of invincibility. They were fixed in place, a moment in time. Frozen at their peak. Forever in their leather or neon jackets, their iconic roles, their very prime. And if they were permanent, then in some way, so are we.
Unfortunately time doesn’t work like that.
Now, when we hear that another one has passed, it’s not just a loss – it’s a marker. A reminder. A quiet voice that says, that era is ending… and so is the illusion that we’re somehow immune to the progression of time.
So when we lose a childhood staple of our youth, we’re not just mourning that person; We’re mourning the version of ourselves that existed when they mattered the most to us. That kid blasting cassette tapes in their room. The teenager watching the same movie for the tenth time. The feeling that life was wide open and free, stretching endlessly ahead of us. The feeling that we still had forever to go.
What’s different about our generation (and generations to follow I’m sure) though, is this:
We have never in history had the kind of access to the past that’s available to us now.
At any moment, we can pull up a song, a movie, an interview, even a photo. We can see our heroes and idols exactly as they were – unchanged, unaged, still in their prime. It creates this strange dual reality where the past is both gone and completely alive at the same time.
They’re still there. But they’re not.
And neither are we.
That’s the part that lingers in the back of my mind.
Because while we can revisit those moments endlessly, we can’t fully step back into them. We can’t be the person we were when they first meant something to us. Time only moves one way, no matter how many times we hit replay.
And maybe that’s not entirely a bad thing.
Maybe the point isn’t to hold onto that illusion of immortality. Maybe it’s to recognize just how powerful those moments were – and still are. The fact that a song from 40 years ago can still hit you in the chest means something. It means it mattered. It still matters.
And so do we.
Because if the people who felt invincible aren’t physically invincible, of course, they can be “immortal”. Time doesn’t just take – it leaves things behind. Memories. Soundtracks. Stories. Pieces of who we were that we still carry. We’re not just watching the past disappear.
We carry it forward.
And maybe that’s how we make peace with it – Not by pretending we’re still young, but by realizing that those years didn’t vanish. They became part of us. Woven into who we are now.
  So when the next headline comes, as it inevitably will, and another name from our youth fades into history, take a moment. Feel it. Remember.
And don’t just mourn the passing of a person or a period in time, recognize that you were there for it. Celebrate that those moments were in some way, large or small, a part of becoming who you are.
Time marches on, for all of us.
Now get to the choppa

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The Megazapper!

My cousin Rick and I were pretty normal, curious preteen boys back in the early 80s. We were always testing theories and trying out science without the aid of social media or the internet for inspiration. We mixed foods that sounded like they shouldn’t go together just to see how bad they’d taste. We mixed random cleaners and chemicals to see how bad they’d smell (how that didn’t end in us passing out from a toxic gas was shear luck). We would drop things from tall heights to see if they’d break. We’d drop ourselves from tall heights to see if we’d break. Whatever seemed like a good idea at the time.
One particularly cold winter day we were at Rick’s house and noticed the audible “snap” of static discharge when we touched a doorknob. This caused us to immediately lay all of our other plans of deviance to the side to start exploring the wonderful world of electricity. We started scrubbing our feet up and down the hallway and touching any metal that we could find, usually resulting in a visible spark and a very satisfying crackle as the built up charge arced from our bodies to the nearest conductive surface. Further experimentation led us to try different sock and shoe combinations and we soon figured out that we could get a much larger zap from wearing oversize wool socks from out of the skiing bin.
We continued our electrical assault on the house until we wondered if we could join ourselves and combine energy for an even larger spark.
Some digging through the old junk bin rewarded us with about a 1 meter long piece of used speaker wire with the ends already bared. We pulled the double row of insulated wire apart and twisted two of the ends together to finish the construction of our self-dubbed “megazapper!”
Rick gripped the middle, twisted section while I held one bare end of the wire and we started shuffling down the hallway. As we approached the end of the hallway Rick lifted the wire, holding the free bare end of the wire out slowly towards the doorknob.
“KAZZAP!!”
The sparks was so big we both jumped and then immediately fell to the floor in gales of laughter,  not unlike a stereotypical mad scientist and his assistant would do if their monster suddenly rose to life on the table.
“Let’s do a bigger one! Shuffle longer!” Rick instructed and off we went down the hall again.
The 80’s brown shag carpet was really getting a workout from our feet conjuring up whatever static we could muster to pass along to the world, each time with the same awe inducing snap and blue spark leaping from the wire.
What was to be our largest spark ever was underway as we had created a path that went down the hall, circled through the bedroom and then proceeded back down the hall to circle the living room. This one was gonna be awesome.
As we turned the corner into the living room I noticed that my Uncle, Rick’s dad, had come in and was going to light a fire in the fireplace. He was crouched down in front of the mantle neatly stacking paper and kindling inside of the fireplace. As we approached, Rick noticed that the back of my uncles jeans were gaping open. Plumber-butt was on full display, although he was not a plumber by trade. The world will never know what possessed Rick to do what happened next but as we approached, both of us still firmly gripping the MEGAZAPPER, Rick proceeded to lower the bare business end of the wire down the opening of the back of his dad’s pants. I did not have time to react to his plan and could only look on in horror before that now familiar electrical “SNAP” sound filled the room.
What happened next was so fast it is kind of a blur, although it felt like slow motion. My uncle jumped up with a horrible bellowing sound and I am not sure, but his feet may have left the ground. This might be a good time to mention that my uncle was a multilevel black-belt karate instructor. My cousin Rick dropped the wire from his hand and bolted out of the room. I was too scared to move. My uncle then turned around to find me standing in the middle of the room, oversized wool socks pulled up to my knees, holding a wire that went from my hands directly down the back of his pants where it remained. I’m pretty sure we both had our lives flash before our eyes. The standoff was broken by the absolute screaming howls of laughter coming from Rick who was now “hiding” in the other room. Thankfully my uncle must have been a good sport about it since we lived past that moment to tell the tale, but I do recall that we stayed out of the adults way the rest of the day. Probably the best behaved we had ever been in fact.
I do still wonder if there was any smoke.

Sadly, my cousin Rick passed in a tragic accident in 2012. This story and memory is dedicated to him. RIP dinglefritz 💔

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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