(While I’m out of the country, I’m reposting some content from my archives. This one was originally published in the spring of 2006 when Chuck had just turned four.)
Yesterday we took Chuck to the vet to have him microchipped and updated on all his vaccinations, and all those people did was shove treats the size of apples down his face. He can sense that we’re going to the vet because instead of moping or hiding in corners he brings us the leash so we won’t be late.
By the end of our appointment yesterday they had fed him probably a dozen treats, and before we even left the parking lot he was bombing the car with Vet Farts, farts different in strength from other farts in that they can melt steel and permanently alter the anatomy of unborn children.
He continued Vet Farting every couple of minutes for the remainder of the day, and when Jon and I climbed into bed to watch a little television before going to sleep he showed up at the bedroom door. Chuck always, ALWAYS, spends his evenings alone in the basement so that he can write poetry, but last night OF ALL NIGHTS he wanted to be with us. Before calling him up on the bed I asked him, “You want to be with us tonight?”
And I promise you if he could have put words to what he was feeling he would have said, “But I have farts to give.”