As I write this, I am at an airport gate waiting for my flight home. I’ve been away for work for three days. I’m ready to be back home with my wife, son, and dogs.

I haven’t wrote about our dogs yet. Actually, they’re Gabrielle’s dogs. I’ve sort of adopted them.

One is 7. The other is 6. For the purpose of maintaining their privacy. I won’t share their names here. They’ll bite me if I do.

They’re good for the most part. I stress, “for the most part.”

We used a moving company in Buffalo, NY to help us move into our first home a couple years ago. For some reason the dogs didn’t like them very much. They growled quite a bit.

Otherwise, they’ve always been friendly around all manners of people. The younger one loves humans and really enjoys affection. He used to climb up on the couch all the time and lay right on top of me. My wife put an end to that, because: “The dogs don’t belong on the couch.”

They’re boxers and they’re big. They slobber a lot, shed more, and smell bad. This drives Gabrielle nuts because it is her goal to keep the house clean and immaculate.

We’ve talked about having dogs after the current mutts pass away. Gabrielle is against. I am, too. They’re a lot of work. Once we have kids who are grown and can take responsibility for a pet, maybe we’ll get another dog or dogs.

By our estimation, our boxers have 4-5 good years left. I have a feeling my wife will inconsolable when they’re gone. She’s had them since they were puppies, and has taken care of them every day. We walk them at least once a day religiously. We’ll miss them. I hate to admit it, but I’ll miss them, too.

Anyway, my flight is about to board, and I can’t wait to get home. It is my favorite place in the world.