The Mischievous Adventures of Mr. Dog

On one fateful day (like two days ago), I found it suddenly desirable to buy a new bicycle, for I longed to get outside more often and in a more delightful manor. You see, all the bicycles we have in the archives of my dad's shop evidently wore scars of previous battles with my brothers and I when we were all young, reckless little derps. They were impossible to ride on, and impossible to look cool riding on. So, a new bicycle it was!

I ventured into Walmart and bought me exactly the bike I was looking for: a pure black one. As I checked out with it (and a new toothbrush), I decided to call my bike Ninja, because it was cool and sneaky and black.

And so the story begins of my bicycling adventures, of epic journeys through tar and dust and fire and dragons.

But today's journey took a different route.

I was biking with Ninja down my neighborhood street, dodging ninja stars and flaming shurikens of death like I was eating a piece of cake, when all of a sudden...I met a dog near the end of the road.

"What are you doing here?" I said aloud, not giving a care in the world if anyone was outside hearing me communicating with a canine (I secretly have the ability to talk Dog, but I can't understand Dog. I know: weird. It should be the other way around).

The dog stared at me vacantly. He was a fat one, like one of my own dogs. Maybe he would like to jog beside me to lose some of that doggy fat! I thought to myself. Sure enough, the dog followed me. In fact, he followed me all the way back down the neighborhood to my house, where I awarded him with treats and water (he was only interested in the treats).

"What's your name, doggy?" I asked him, obviously expecting an answer. When I received none (I was quite disappointed), I heard my mom calling through the door, "Who are you talking to?"

"Mr. Dog," I instantly named him and said it as if it should be obvious. You see, my mom should already be used to her daughter wandering back to the house with dogs. Dogs love me. I love dogs. And the dogs want to stay with me, so I ask if they can. And then Mom says no and I throw a fit and cry. At least that's how the system used to be.

But this time I was smart! I knew the gameplay before I even asked my mom. She would say no, most definitely, because "we already have three dogs" or "I don't want to make you clean up more poop in the backyard" or "his owner is probably looking for him right now!" So I gave up before the battle even started.

When I walked back outside to see how Mr. Dog was doing, I found him chewing on a used diaper.

Don't ask me how he even got one, and why he ate it in our front yard, but at that moment I decided it was time for him to take another pleasant jog with Ninja and I.

He was a lot slower than last time, probably because the ninja stars and flaming shurikens of death were freaking him out.

Eventually we made it back to where I found him. He clearly didn't want me to go because he sat on my foot. But I told him my farewells aloud as I would any other human or dog.

"Mr. Dog," I began. "It's been nice getting to know you, but I must leave now. The Black Ninja Dynasty calls for their imperial queen to come back home (that's me). I will most assuredly miss you, my dear Mr. Dog."

I thought it would be easy biking back home (really fast, so he couldn't catch up), but when I turned around to see if he was wandering away, he was jogging back for me.

"No, Mr. Doggy!" I shouted back. "Go back home! Don't follow me!" I paddled faster and made the distance between us farther. I turned around again.

He was still jogging (very slowly, but he was doing the best a fat dog could do).

At that moment, it felt like a flaming shuriken of death pierced my heart (maybe one did).

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be!" I shouted over the pain of the tragedy. It felt like my life was in slow motion, as if it were a clip out of a dog movie where everyone in the theater is crying because the dog keeps waiting for the deceased owner to come back home but he obviously never will.

...And so eventually I made it home and figured it'd make for a good story to share (it's a true story too. All of it).

Because a good story makes for a fine life! The End!


P.S: Maybe somebody will make a dog movie of my story. I would be so freaking pumped.

The Reimer Clan

One year and a day ago, I went on the most exciting adventure of my life. It was my first day attending School of Ministers, an infamous bible school held in the Southland Church in Steinbach, Manitoba, Canada. I remember waking up that day, a crispy 6:10am (because waking up at 6am is too close to 5:59am, and nobody wants to wake up at a 5am minute...So 6:10am.).

As I arrived in the parking lot at 6:57am, I walked through the door into the SOM classroom and immediately began my search for my brother Taran and my two very close cousins Dale and Calen. There was nothing more comforting than to have 3 of my favorite bros waiting for me to join them at a table at the far corner of the room that would soon be known as the "Reimer Clan" table!

I believe the most exciting part about that day was being pointed out that Taran and I were the ones from Texas. Our teacher asked, and so we stood up and were then stared at intensely by all the Canadians (which is to be expected, right? We Texans are a rare breed!).

Throughout the entire day, Taran and I were constantly accompanied by one or more people asking us about Texas, why we came to Canada, how we heard of SOM, and why we didn't have strong Texan accents or carried guns in our boots with spurs.

Later that day, or maybe it was a few weeks later, the Reimer Clan stumbled across a fellow student who seemed to fit right into the group. He was funny, quick-witted, a video game junkie and evidently a strong Christian--the perfect poster child of a Reimer! So inevitably, we Reimers took interest of this fellow, whose name was none other than The Trevor Andrews. But one day I was displeased with his last name.

I stood with my fists on the table and loudly proclaimed, "YOU ARE OUR COUSIN NOW." And thus, Trevor Andrews suddenly became a Trevor Reimer, and stayed faithfully by our sides through the entire year.

There were plenty more of these friends made during our year at SOM. These friends made it so easy for me to love waking up at 6:10am and running through three feet of snow to turn on my car and break the ice off my windshield wipers and drive through ice and tundras.

I miss School of Ministers, the people and the potlucks, the robot dance-offs and the small group studies, the retreats in Pinawa and drawing on the whiteboard. But I will never forget the amazing growth I had there in God, and each and every friend I made. I will always come back to Canada, just for them, because they made my life awesome. And so, even though I'm not attending SOM this year, I pray the students now will be able to make friends just like we did, grow even more than we did, and build an even finer life than mine!

So good luck with that. I've got a pretty dang fine life thanks to all of you!