Decade of the Dog Plan
I first drove into Whitehorse in the early winter of 1999. I parked the car. It didn't start the next morning. A week later I found a job and an apartment. I'm still here.
Early on, I conceived what would become known as the Dog Plan:
- To get a dog, I'd need a yard.
- To get a yard, I'd need a house.
- To get to the house, I'd need a truck.
By October 2000, I had the truck, having sold my marshmallow-ey '92 Crown Vic to a neighbour from the apartment building. I never saw him or the car again.
By February 2001, I had the house. Not a fancy one, but it had a fenced yard and, since this was before the real estate runup, I could buy it with cash (with generous family assistance).
In October 2001, the Dog Plan came to fruition when this little gal came home from the shelter:
This is what greets you at the gate. Mormons begone!
I named her for the small tuft of white on her chest, "all pepper with a smidgen of salt." Smidgen was likely born in July of 2001, which means today is her tenth birthday. She's snoring away at my feet as I write this, and couldn't give a damn about her decennial. Her recent kennelmate, Minuit, is flaked out down the hall, and there's a third visiting mutt, Hélène, somewhere on the premises.
Steps 1 and 2 of the dog plan. From the outside, the structure certainly seems well insulated and leakproof.
So that's the Dog Plan. Carole and I are working on a new plan now.
Archived Comments
I love the plan, even though I don't completely understand the need for truck to get house, but hey, clearly the plan worked. Now I can't wait to know all about the New Plan.
Fawn, the truck was required in case the house with the yard was miles off in the bush somewhere. Also, I don't fit comfortably into that many vehicles. Most people have never experienced the static cling that builds up when your head rubs against a car's upholstered ceiling.
New plan? Hmmm. Sounds ominous. Are you taking another stab at that death star thingy you always wanted? I was on board until you mentioned, "....and I'll need a sword that lights up." That was just one step too far and I was out. And that R2D2 just gave me the creeps if I'm being completely honest.
It does sound ominous if you employ the traditional definition of "plan". My definition is a little closer to "play it by ear and see what happens and then afterwards call that the plan." Cuts way down on estimation errors that way.
I've run major projects on A LOT less so I subscribe to and celebrate your methodology. "I'll need some bristol board and scotch tape..." has delivered more than one major initiative.
I should also mention that I name my "plans" in such a way as to make them sound like successes. For example, "Initiative to raise neighbouring housing prices relative to mine by undertaking major plumbing renovations" and "Proposal to reallocate savings to deserving stock market counterparties".