Mmmmmm. That's good.

I slept soundly last night. This is why:

See, he had been hunting for a week. Most people would be like, "What the heck you let him do that fo?" To them I say, "Psh. Whatev. It's who he is. He's happier when he hunts, which means I'm happier when he hunts which means the kids are happier when he hunts which again means I'm happy and that makes everybody happy. We're all happy."

Happy, happy, happy. Happy.

Hunting is a part of him, it's not just a hobby. It sort of defines who he is. Kinda like Babe Ruth and baseball. Or Thunder and Lightening. Spots on a Dalmatian. Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner. What would one be without the other?

When he's gone, I do fine. The kids and I stick to our routines and we go about our business as if nothing is amiss. Of course we miss him, of course his lack of presence is noticed, but we also know that he will come back, and when he does, oh the reunions we have!

 

Now, having said all that, it's not until I clap my eyes on him that I realize, truly, just how much I've missed him; how much of a gaping hole was caused by his absence, but which disappears immediately upon his return. As soon as I fling myself at him when he gets back, it always hits me hard just how badly we missed this guy, but I hadn't realized it until that moment. He is our quiet strength and we all do better when he's around.

And man! You ought to hear him tell his stories.

And the snuggling? Can't be beat.