As I mentioned last week, there has been a distinct lack of Jonas-related posts here over the past few months. And contrary to popular belief this is not because I buried him under the house, sold him into puppy slavery or other such conceivable terrible acts*. No, instead we’ve come to a sort of agreement as of late: I won’t throw him off the overpass if he stops making my life suck. We even shook on it. I’m serious.

My parents came for a visit the first weekend in March, which also happened to be Barron von Barkenstein’s first birthday. For weeks leading up to this, I prepared my mother for the hell that she was inviting unto herself by willingly choosing to spend the weekend in our house. No amount of horror stories of jumping and vocal acrobatics could dissuade her, and instead this served to only fuel her persuasions that He is actually better each time they visit. My mother could hack it in the stand-up biz, as you can see.

What both shocked and humbled me is that when they arrived, Jonas changed demeanor. Sure, He still thinks my father is one giant puppy ready to play at all times. But by in large, he calmed rather considerably. And his birthday celebration came and went with no major catastrophes, no candles-turned-weapons-of-arson or ceremonial trashing of the house. When my parents left on that Sunday he even sat. As in “all four paws on the ground for more than five seconds.” And for those that may not think this was reason alone to run through the streets in ecstasy, shouting…I’ll just say that this brought the grand total of such events to TWO. Not counting the use of drugs to achieve the same effect.

So for the past month, we’ve all lived in relative harmony. The weather warmed up to a point where he enjoys being outside by himself for longer periods. The sun and heat wears him out to the point that he just lays panting for hours afterwards. This makes me weep silently in the corner.

This past weekend in particular was truly magical. The Wife™ had a wedding shower and also had to work, which meant that I was stuck home alone with the Dog Formerly Known As Satan. Instead of one of us ending up in emergency care (as would be expected), we enjoyed each other’s company. We played fetch until he could no longer stand. He even took a nap, without aid of sedation, for over an hour, while I sat on the couch. If I weren’t already a man of faith this certainly would have made me convert. Hell I’d take on a second religion because it was just that damned moving.

So here we are almost a year into living together and I can finally say that I enjoy having Jonas around. He still controls our lives, but there are times now when I laugh openly at him when he smacks his head on the kitchen table when getting up, or when he spends 10 minutes trying to bite his shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt to eat his own collar. And I confess to being willing to do almost anything for him if he just cocks his head for it, as I find it the most endearing and hilarious thing my eyes have ever witnessed.

So to The Wife™: You can tell your co-workers that I’ve finally written something nice about Jonas, something that wasn’t his eulogy or the text of a “for sale” ad in the newspaper.

* my legal team has informed me that this is the correct thing to say. Hi legal team!