I stayed at home an extra day this weekend.

You may recall that I had ankle surgery at the end of last year, and today was what will likely be the last follow-up visit with the surgeon. The surgery was largely unsuccessful, even after seven months of serious rehab work. Bummer.

But it meant I got to do something very important.

LSU has had a live tiger mascot since the 1930’s, and I have known all of them since Mike III. I would visit Mike III every time I came to campus, and he always came over and greeted me. Probably because I looked tasty.

Mike III died when I was about to start high school, so I had to develop a new relationship at an awkward time in life. Fortunately, Mike IV and I struck up a wonderful friendship. When I went to LSU in August of 1980 I lived in the football stadium. Mike’s enclosure was right outside my window, literally forty yards away. One of my favorite memories is when he would occasionally roar at night. I would frequently roar back. I spent many an evening sitting in my lawn chair outside his enclosure visiting with him, and we had many meaningful chats. I also took Peggy to meet him when we were dating. I know it was a lot of pressure, but Mike approved of her wholeheartedly. I think Peggy understood…

Mike V had a glorious reign, including a football national championship and five baseball national championships. My visits with him were more limited since I lived so far away, but every time I came to see him he would meet me at the fence and roll for me. He also provided a personal highlight by “spraying” a group of obnoxious tourists who were yelling at him to come closer for a picture. He came closer, all right, and let ’em have it. Tiger justice.

Mike VI may have been the most beautiful cat I have ever seen, and he had a wonderful personality to match. He was the mascot when I moved back to Baton Rouge, so he and I visited often. He oversaw a football national championship and a baseball national championship. He was extremely playful even when he became ill with the cancer that killed him. His death was a very sad day.

A lot of tiger history, but it sets up what happened today. Today was Mike VII’s first day on campus, and I got to be here to share it with him. He is just a baby — a 175-pound baby — but he walked right over to me, flopped and rolled for me. I told him that I had stuck around just to see him.  He is likely to be the biggest of all the mascots, but today he is still a kitten. I told him I would be back soon to visit. I think he was pleased, but it is hard to tell — we’re just getting to know each other.

I have written a lot this year about the pain of losing parents as we get older. It sucks, but it is inevitable and is the way of the world. To be honest, the alternative — parents losing children — is much worse to me.

I am not ready to start losing friends.

We all have those tragic moments of death in youth. Two of my closest friends died together in a plane crash when I was 21. It was tragic and it was tough. But that’s not what I am talking about.

I’m talking about people my age or even a little younger. We got news today that the former husband of one of Peggy’s closest friends died this week. He was a year younger than me.

When we lived in Dallas we used to do things with Paige and Bruce. Paige was Peggy’s maid of honor and Peggy was a bridesmaid and I sang in Paige and Bruce’s wedding. When we left Dallas we would see them when we came to town, usually for dinner or lunch somewhere. Food and drink was an important part of the relationship. Sometimes too important a part, especially the drink.

Bruce didn’t die in a car accident. He didn’t commit suicide. He just died, and that is not supposed to happen to 53-year-old men. He was a week older than Peggy.

I suppose this is one of those moments that should cause me to think about being healthier, exercising more, eating less. In reality it just makes me sad. Even though Bruce and Paige were no longer married they were still close. They have been excellent parents to the son they share, and they have been very engaged in his life. I don’t think either of them ever held out any hope or desire for reconciliation, but they have remained very good friends.

I am truly sad for Paige, and I am truly sad for a young man losing his father while still a college student. He should have had many more years to get support and advice from his father.

Take care of yourselves, folks. And show the ones you love that you love them, every day.

Godspeed, Bruce. And God bless, Paige.

I love bringing people with us to Colorado. Even though we do many of the same things each year when we come, sharing them with others keeps everything new and exciting. It is always a blast to see everything through someone else’s eyes.

I love it even more when we are here by ourselves. The guests are gone and it is just Peggy and me for a couple of days. There’s just something so relaxing about hanging out on the back deck looking up Keystone Mountain and enjoying the cool weather. Coffee in hand or wine in hand, just soaking it up at all times of the day.

We drive to Denver tomorrow to fly back to Baton Rouge. Then I will drive to San Antonio to start the new gig. Life is going to be changing in a major way when we get home, but here on the back deck everything is peaceful and perfect. Peggy loves it here and I love Peggy. So, by the associative property I love it here, too.

The real world waits for us but we don’t have to go back just yet.

We always stay on the back porch too long on the last night and end up in sweatshirts or blankets simply because we do not want it to end. We don’t want to leave the cool weather, we don’t want to leave the beautiful scenery, and we don’t want to leave the relaxation.

But we will leave. And, God willing, we’ll come back next year and do it all over again.

One of my guilty vacation pleasures is to visit the barber shop every year while we are in Colorado and get a haircut and a shave. Peggy calls it my “spa day” — I’m OK with that.

When I started going to Scott he was located in Dillon. I would grow a beard each summer (technically a Van Dyke) and let Scott either shave it off or trim it for me. It is kind of my end of summer ritual, even though we will still have at least two more months of summer when I return home to Baton Rouge.

A couple of years ago Scott moved up to a larger location in Frisco. He now has five or six barbers working for him and the place has become very busy. So busy, in fact, that my failure to make an advance online reservation proved to be fatal to my plan to have Scott do the job. Since today was the only time I had set aside I decided to walk in and take my chances.

The young man who cut my hair today did an excellent job, but he was nervous about the shave. He told me that he had not shaved anyone since he finished barber school a few months before. I told him to relax and do his best.

I am not giving his name because he cut me. It didn’t hurt, but any cut on your face bleeds like a mother. He was so upset by it that I was comforting him. It really was no big deal, but Scott came over and looked at it and said, “Guess who just got a free haircut?” I tipped the young man $20 and told him not to worry about it — chalk it up as an experience to improve his technique.

It did not ruin the experience at all, and I recommend the shop to anyone I know who is going to be in the Summit County area. Of course, next year I will make my reservation in advance. We went ahead and did everything we had planned to do for the day. But for now, I am going to try to get some sympathy mileage out of it.

Chicks dig scars.