Every Day an Olliday

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My routine is pretty established around here at Camp Clifford.

I leave the house anywhere between 6 and 7 and I usually walk back through the door between 2 and 3 with about 90 minutes of report writing to do.

Far as I can tell, the dog and cat sleep until around 1:45 because they’re fired out of a cannon when I get back home.

Miller (the cat) is kind enough to wake me up a half hour before I have to get up each day - and he has some cat milk before going back to bed.

All hell breaks loose when my reports are written.

It was 82 degrees here, but Ollie caught 240 passes with 4 different footballs between 2:00 and 8:00.

He also ate a half dozen bones, a healthy portion of rotisserie chicken and 3 bowls of dog food.

He’s in elite athlete shape (he imitates me).

When he’s not catching the ball, he is right at my side, staring at me.

We have taken to remind him that every day is an Ollieday.

And I’m not sure what hitting the lottery might be like for a dog, but he’s pretty wealthy.

The other night he was staring at me and I said:

“Go get the blue football.”

He turned his head to register the request.

“It’s downstairs by Jake’s room,” I explained.

He jumped off the couch and headed for the stairs.

“No freaking way,” Kathy said.

Yet, I knew he’d come back with it, and 15 seconds later the blue football was in my lap.

“That’s insane,” Sam said, as he’d been walking by.

“Why? ‘Cause he’s smarter than you?” I asked.

Sam laughed.

“He might be.”

Crazy, but these damn pets have full control.

Gotta’ go. 

Miller is calling me.

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