Simon and the Wax Man

A quiet Saturday night at home. No carousing for me. No cruising through bars or talking real smart or getting in fights. That kind of behavior leads to violence, bodily injury and all sorts of not-worth-it consequences.

What possible trouble could cross a fellow's path when he's at home?

The dishes were done and I was quietly reading and watching TV with my family on a Saturday night. This tranquil scene might have played itself out without incident, but we own a dog. And where there is a dog there is always the potential for trouble.

One minute I was quietly reading in the bedroom. The next minute I was staring at myself in the bathroom mirror -- blood dripping from a small gash on my forehead and hot wax covering my face and hair. That sort of mayhem is all in a night's work for a dog.

The scenario reads like a complicated Rube Goldberg contraption gone awry. Simon, the family pooch, was lying by the bed with his toy -- a rough-textured, slobbery ball that only a dog could love. The ball rolls under our bed where he can't reach it and he goes into a fit. He's got his snout under the bed, his butt up in the air and he's clawing against the carpet with all his might.

This has happened before. My role is to grumble, get down on the floor, push the dog out of the way and reach under the bed for the ball.

Only this time my head hits the nightstand and bumps a small, votive candle in its tiny glass container off of its perch. The burning candle and glass container land on my head with a thud, creating a small, bloody gash. The flame was pretty much extinguished by the time the candle hit me but the candle wax was still plenty warm and gooey. It covered my face and hair and sent me running to the bathroom to splash water on my face.

"Wax man!" my daughter exclaimed as she watched the gooey liquid start to harden all over her father's head and hair.

So now, I'm wet and I'm waxy and I'm bleeding.

What bar could offer a person this much adventure on a Saturday night?

Simon really wasn't to blame of course. My clumsiness was the real culprit. Just as human folly was the reason garbage was strewn all over our kitchen one morning.

That was the day I set the full, plastic garbage bag next to the kitchen door so I would be sure to take it out as I left for work. It was placed so that I pretty much couldn't get to the door without tripping over it.

I walked right past the garbage bag on my way to work. An hour later my wife and daughter also walked past the garbage bag.

Simon figured his morning meal had just been extended into a nice brunch and the mess ensued.

Sure, Simon has his little quirks, but I'll bet there are times he wonders about us.

One frantic morning my wife put up the dog gates up to enclose him in the kitchen. Out the door and into the car she and my daughter scurried. Then my daughter remembered a book she needed and rushed back to the house.

Greeting her was one very confused poodle who had been inadvertently gated out of the kitchen.