Next Door Daddy

You are not a plumber, Pollyanna McDonald reminded herself as she eyed the thin trail of water trickling from beneath the bolt...or was it called a socket?A lug nut?Whatever--she might not be able to put a finger on the name of the doohickey, thing, but her washing machine was connected to it and she didn't have to know its name in order to fix it.Surely she could take care of that little, tiny water leak. They did it on HGTV all the time. Piece of cake. Women of all ages, shapes, sizes and ethnicities fixed any manner of things on those shows all the time and so could she.Lifting her chin, she hiked the tool belt into a more comfortable position on her hips and hoped for confidence. The assortment of sparkling tools tinkled like wind chimes in the pockets, drawing her to study them. What in the world did one do with this many wrenches? They all looked the same.Obviously Marc had found uses for all of them; they'd come from his toolbox, after all. She reached for one. You are not a plumber--"Yet," she said out loud, firmly silencing the negative voice in her head. She'd been pushing herself for two years to do and be more than she'd ever thought she could be. She could tighten a silly piece of metal.Shhh-whump! Whump! The resounding thud and immediate echo from the front room of the house sent Polly's heart skittering to a halt.The exuberant "Ye-haw!" jump-started it up again. Followed by two small feet charging her way.That banister was going to be the death of her. It was. And she'd have no one to blame but herself when she dropped in her tracks.Any woman in her right mind should have known an eight-year-old-boy with daredevil genes would take one look at the gorgeous, three-story, gracefully winding stair railing and see the ultimate joyride."That's one doozy of a ride, Mom!" her son, Gilly, howled. Fresh cheeks glowing, eyes twinkling with the elation of living life full tilt he burst into the room, racing by on his way to the back door.Despite the wave of anxiety that overcame her every time he shot down the banister, his enthusiasm made Polly smile when she needed to censure.Toenails churning as he sought traction on the hardwood, Bogie, Gilly's seven-month-old puppy, could be heard making his way through the house in hot pursuit. The wrinkled shar-pei was smile material, too, in his oversize birthday suit. His already comical appearance was made more so since, for medical reasons and not vanity, he'd had to have "some work" done on his droopy eyelids. Because of this he was wearing a hard plastic collar that resembled a lampshade and prevented him from scratching out the stitches. It was also dangerous to his health as it messed up his depth perception. Polly feared the worst as she watched the doorway for him to make his entrance. As expected, he misjudged the turn, snagged the contraption on the door frame and was sent sprawling to the floor. Poor Pepper, their cockatiel, aka dog jockey, as he loved to perch on Bogie's back, was ejected at impact and sent flying into the air!Never a dull moment. Polly wasn't sure who was more embarrassed, the dog or the bird, as Pepper made a drunken beeline for the open cabinet door beside where Polly stood and glared at Bogie."Busted!" Pepper squealed in his childlike voice."Buu-sted."Thanks to Marc, Pepper had a huge vocabulary. Because of her husband's tutelage, a person could practically hold a conversation with the spunky fowl.Watching the bedlam, Gil cringed. Polly saw his eyes melt with sympathy and her heart swelled with love for her son. Thank you, Lord."Poor Bogie. C'mon, little buddy," he said, bending forward and patting his knee. Poor Bogie needed all the encouragement he could get. Curly tail flattened out and hanging low, he trudged over, looking like Eeyore, and sat on Gil's feet, his face averted from view. "It's okay, little fella," Gil cooed, affectionately rubbing Bogie's ears. He hadClopton, Debra is the author of 'Next Door Daddy', published 2008 under ISBN 9780373874644 and ISBN 0373874642.