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July 6, 2001

Summers are a time for grandparents to spend a few days bonding with their grandchildren and gain relief from the stress of the work-a-day world, or so I'm told...

The doorbell rings at least 20 times before I can walk from the kitchen to the front door. There, I am greeted by 38 pounds and 38 inches of the most gorgeous child on earth.

"Hi, Nina," he says, blue eyes twinkling, and after a quick hug, he starts howling like a coyote. Then, the search for Paw Paw begins.

After a series of swinging doors and ransacked closets, Jeffrey discovers Paw Paw in the pantry. The two howl in concert, share hugs and kisses, and grab jelly beans on the way to the swing where a discussion of all that has happened since their last encounter ensues and new dreams and schemes unfold.

After a bit, they unpack the tools of the trade—no less than a dozen trucks of every description—firetrucks, big cranes, little cranes, tractors, backhoes, hay balers, plows, farm animals of every description. They pop in the "Robin Hood" video while they play, and by lunch, I can sing and whistle the rooster's part as well as Roger Miller.

Next Jeffrey gives Ol' Spud (Paw Paw), his bird dog pup , a few lessons in obedience. A belt around Spud's neck, with the cell phone attached, serves as a shock collar and the garage door opener is the remote. Jeffrey gives the commands, and Ol' Spud, who is naturally unruly, gets zapped. Spud lets out an ear- piercing howl, paws at the collar and rolls on the floor. Jeffrey laughs hysterically, and they go at it again. At last, I intervene.

"Spud, you'd better knock it off before you wear out the garage doors."

A swim is next on the agenda. Everyone from Moby Dick to Captain Hook to a tidal wave or two shows up. At Jeffrey's insistence, Nina gets dunked, clothes and all.

After supper Paw Paw is transformed into a raging steed. He emerges from the closet on all fours, wearing his heavy winter coat.

"What in the world are you doing with that coat on?" I have to ask.

"I gotta have sump'n to protect my ribs and backbone from his daddy's sharp spurs," Paw Paw replies.

Soon, the room is filled with snorting and bucking of the sort that rattles windows and shifts pictures on the wall. The steed pitches and the cowboy rides until they both wear down.

At the conclusion of a wonderful day, the three tuckered companions plod off to bed—Jeffrey to his tent, which is set up in Paw Paw and Nina's bedroom. As I read a favorite bedtime story, little eyelids begin to droop. I quietly reach to cut off the light.

I'm reminded of a line from one of Don Edwards' cowboy songs: `That night as the moon came over the mountain, two more coyotes were heard…….'

"Owooooooo" comes from the little tent, followed by "Night, night Paw Paw. Night, night Nina."

"Owooooooooo" Paw Paw returns the call. "Night, night Doodly Woodly, night, night, Nina."

As I close my eyes, I realize how lucky I am. I've survived the day and only have four more to go.