The boy just turned 11 and is in his last year of Webelos, which means it's the final year of Pinewood Derby in our house. The last, that is, unless we adopt, build a new child, or my Lovely Wife starts pimping me out to friends and neighbors.

Since our first foray into Pinewood three years ago, I've acquired a bit of car-building skill, not to mention a metric ass-ton of power and hand tools to build our stable of pinewood steeds. I've also spent around $125 on weights, $30 on paint, and taken at least three days off of work in that time, which probably pushes my financial investment well past $1000, all thing considered.

Along the way, we've managed to win a modest amount of hardware. First and second place trophies in the Friends & Family division, a first place in den, and second place in pack. The first in pack still eludes us, and, although this is our last shot, I felt less inclined to make the big push for that, and more inclined to let the boy take the reins of his own car - for better or worse

But for the rough cutting and axle prep, he's doing it all. I think he may even be enjoying himself doing it, which is good. Hopefully, he's learning something about working with tools, too. It remains to be seen how his car will do on race day, but I think even if he doesn't do as well, he'll appreciate it more than in past years

For my part, I'm still going great guns.  There'll be two cars entered in the Friends & Family division - one fast, and one pretty. The fast one will be the culmination of all I've learned - perfect weight distribution, fast-starting design, and enough graphite powder to enable it to slip into another dimension. It should take first in F&F, but - because it's not a scout's car - will not be eligible for first in pack.

The pretty car has allowed me to indulge my lifelong passion for car design. Sleek and sexy, with sweeping lines and bulging fenders, it will look every bit the performance car.  Alas, due to the excess wood and poor weight distribution necessary to make it look like a sports car, it is not likely to rank among the fastest cars. All hat, no cattle, as Texas ranchers would say. 

I'm trying to savor this last week or so until the race, because this is it. There will be no more, unless some sort of accident befalls my Lovely Wife's birth control.

"... almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."

Steve Jobs
1955-2011

Our German Shepherd Dog turned two this year, and we celebrated in grand fashion. Yes, I know I capitalized "Dog" - it's the legal name of the breed, and the German Shepherd Dog officials get very upset when you don't include the "Dog" part. They want you to be all German and precise about these things, and they don't want their dogs to be confused with those German Shepherd Turtles.

But I digress. The Dog turned two, and that was almost the end of the line. No, I'm not kidding. She came down with something called gastric torsion, a.k.a. "bloat", and almost went to the big kennel in the sky. On her birthday. And you thought your birthday sucked.

Gastric torsion, besides being a great name for a heavy metal band, is a condition whereby the stomach gets twisted completely around. It's somewhat common in large breed dogs, such as the GSD, Labrador Retriever, or Oakland Raiders quarterback.  It's not known if turtles are susceptible.  But basically, the stomach twists completely around, cutting off both the entrance and exit, and subsequently traps gas. Those of you who have experienced dog farts first-hand probably see this as a bonus, but as you'll soon read, it is not.

The stomach becomes severely distended, causing considerable damage to other organs. Left untreated, the dog will die, in a very painful way.  If that hasn't gotten your attention yet, this will - from onset until death takes only 4 to 6 hours.

So here we were, on the night of her second birthday, and suddenly the Dog starts acting funny. Not in a Robin Williams kind of way, but in a hey-my-stomach-is-twisted-and-this-isn't-cool kind of way. My Wife, in her typical Dr. Doolittle fashion, manages to diagnose gastric torsion within about 10 minutes. We were able to confirm her suspicions by consulting a book.  A "book" is an ancient form of communication, comprised of ink and dead trees, that was used long before there was The Google.

So off to the Animal Emergency Room we went - me, Wife, Dog, and Wallet.  It was Sunday night, about 11pm, and we knew this was not going to be cheap. They examined the dog and confirmed our fears - it was gastric torsion.  The moment of truth had come and we were presented with two options.  We could either have them perform surgery on the dog, or we could put her down.  If we went with surgery, it would probably cost two to three thousand dollars.  If not, she would die.

They took her in for surgery, which involved cutting her open, un-twisting the stomach, and attaching it to the wall of gastric cavity.  After that, she had to stay in doggie ICU for about a day and a half. But we got to bring her home then, and within a week and a half, she was running around as if nothing had ever happened.  Clearly, she had as much financial sense as your average mortgage lender.  Maybe we should have gotten a turtle.