About 17 years ago, I was watching a BYU game on t.v. while my kids (aged 6, and 8) played out in the cul de sac where we lived. (neighbor kids were also out there) BYU was playing terribly. I was so frustrated. To make matters worse, my wife kept bugging me about this thing or that, not appreciating the emotional turmoil I was in. Then my wife started bugging me about helping out my kids who were scared because the neighbor's dog was barking at them.

The neighbor's dog was big and generally friendly and was frequently roaming our street. The kids were not really in danger. BUT, my wife kept bugging me. Finally, I marched out my front door, picking a 3 iron out of my golf bag along the way. I held that club above my head and yelled at the dog as I marched towards him. The dog back pedaled like BYU dropping 8 and I marched him right into his back yard and closed the gate. I then marched back into my house, thrust the 3 iron back into the golf bag, and resumed watching the pitiful game.

My wife and kids sat there with their mouths agape. They learned that day that Dad is indeed a maniac and maybe we should handle some of this stuff ourselves the next time Dad is in the middle of the BYU game. My neighbors never mentioned the episode. I try not to think about it.