Every evening, sometime between 7 and 11 p.m. I leave my condo in Austin, two leashes in hand, and embark on a one-mile journey that says everything about who I am as a person, and following this, how far I have come.

“I’ve come to see my dogs as a reflection of my willingness to try to improve, as well as an unsparing measure of my frequent failure to do so. Orson is a different dog than the frantic, matted and terrified creature that arrived in a crate at Newark Airport several years ago. He is calmer, more responsive, more loving – the result, I’m convinced, of my struggle to learn and grow and to be more patient, less angry.

For better or for worse, I see Orson’s progress – and that of my other two dogs – as a mirror of my own humanity, a benchmark of my progress. Or lack thereof. … Can working with a dog really make you a good human? Probably not. Can it make you a better one? Yes.”
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        – Jon Katz

This one-mile journey is a trek on the shores of Town Lake with my two dogs, Clementine and Simba. For them, it is a walk. Actually, I take that back. For Simba, it is a very slow plodding interspersed with sniffing, stick chewing and pleas from me that range from “Simba, come ON,” to “Simba, let’s GO.” Simba is slower than a stuffed animal but sweeter than honey.

For Clementine, it is a dead sprint. She rushes ahead, her curious soul exploding, like a 14-year-old with TNT and a flamethrower, wanting to vacuum every last stem of grass. She bobs and weaves out of thickets and brush, disappearing for an uncomfortable amount of time, miraculously reappearing just seconds after I have started to grow anxious and begun swallowing hard with regret of ever letting her off the leash.

They are me.

I possess a duality that confuses people. I am Clementine and Simba, physically and emotionally. I can run ahead or lag behind. Physically, I am capable of running 26.2 miles, as well as sitting in the same spot for three days and developing bed sores watching “Cake Boss” reruns. Emotionally, I sometimes demand to be the center of attention, and other times prefer if you notice the blender in the kitchen after noticing me.

I’ve often wondered what, my father, who I write about at length, and who I have described as an “old school worker bee” would say about all this. He has built houses, garages and children, not because that was ever his job. It just came naturally. Naturally, he would want to comment on the wiring in my head.

Me: “Well, what do you think pops?”

Dad: (taking off his glasses) “Well, this is different.”

Me: “Different.”

Dad: “Yeah, different.”

Me:  “Different bad?”

Dad: “No, just different. Just not the way I would have done it.”

 Me: “Right, but that’s no surprise. You used to wake up at 5 a.m. on Saturdays to kill animals. I wake up at 10 a.m. to save them.”

 Dad: “I know what you’re getting at, but I also played football and as memory recalls, I coached you in high school. Weren’t you the captain of the football team?”

Me: “Yeah. But I’m not sure I understand your point.”

Dad: “My point is that you take after me and you don’t, and that is a complexity that I have grown to understand and appreciate. I am simple man Keith. You know that.”

Me: “Simple sounds like an understatement.”

Dad: “To you it is. To me it’s a compliment.”

Me: “And you think I’m complex?”

Dad: “Well, yes, we all know that. But it defines you, and that’s what important.”

Me: “I’m not so sure I understand.”

Dad: “Keith, as a father, you’re looking for a son to be like you, but that could mean anything.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Dad: “I mean, as a dad, you want your son to take after you, but then looking back at your own life, sometimes you wonder if that’s possible. I mean, my mom died when I was young. I grew up quicker than you. I could install plumbing at 18.”

Me: “I was going to ask you if you could help with a leak in my condo.”

Dad: “My point is that I am what I am. You call me a worker bee. That’s what I was, and what I will always be. I’ll be taking a circular saw to my casket the day before I die.”

Me: “Does it bother you that I don’t make sense to you?”

Dad: “You make sense Keith. Just because you are a vegetarian and would rather handle a petition than a nail doesn’t mean you don’t make sense. You are strong willed and believe. You believe. I love you for that. You are more creative. I am more resourceful. But come 10 p.m. we both go to bed wanting something out of life, and we both go to bed having tried to pursue it, and as a father, that’s what you want.”