Mr Active

Today is my son’s birthday. He is 33. He has the world by the tail and is currently in Germany visiting his girlfriend. They met several months ago in a Jaguar Rehabilitation Reserve in Costa Rica or Belize or one of the other snake and mosquito-infested Banana Republics…I forget which one. There were never any Jaguars at this preserve, but there were monkeys and on a regular schedule, Sheffield and his girlfriend would rendezvous there supposedly to celebrate the release of a favorite monkey back into the wild. (I believe most monkeys came back into Rehab straight away, the living being easier there.) Of late they have not felt the need of a monkey-release to visit each other and now just hang out somewhere in the world for a few months at a time, writing to me frequently about how wonderful the food is and how misunderstood pit bulls are.

Then Sheff misses his gaggle of pit bulls and flies back to Seattle for some R&R. He’s very tender-hearted toward his pit bulls, all pit bulls, in fact, and in all conversations works in the truth that they are terribly misunderstood. They occasionally mistakenly kill a few cats or bite a neighbor on accident, but those times are anomalous, stemming from some misunderstanding or suspicious quick movement on the part of the cat or the neighbor.
A week from tomorrow Sheff is coming to Viana do Castelo to spend Christmas with us. It will be a true pleasure to throw my arms around this big slab of a man. My main man.