Father's Day Weekend: Underdog in the Garden

“There’s no need to fear… Underdog is here!” 🎶

I noticed Mom humming and asked, “What are you singing? ”She chuckled, “Oh, you wouldn’t know it—it’s before your time.” Then she broke into that classic line, voice soft and playful.

I asked why that song came to mind.

She smiled. “It was supposed to be a peaceful day — just me (aka Polly) tending to my flowers, humming to myself like a walking lullaby. But before I could even finish adjusting the gnome, the garden was under siege.”

Enter the enemy: a gang of rogue squirrels. Tail-twitching, acorn-flinging chaos. They knocked over flowerpots, trampled the daisies, dug up bulbs, and bulldozed any trace of order.

“I yelled just once — ‘Get the H-E-double-hockey-sticks out of here! ’But then I remembered… yelling might startle your dad.”

And that’s when it happened.

He heard the call.

Like a true backyard superhero — no cape, just full confidence — Dad (aka Underdog) came charging in.

With the speed of lightning and the roar of thunder, he zigzagged past the birdbath, skidded across the lawn, and dove into action. The squirrels didn’t stand a chance. 🐿️🫣

He somersaulted through pansies, crawled sniper-style behind the rosebush, emerged with binoculars, leaves in his mouth, mud on his pants, and a streak of dirt across his shirt like war paint.

Out of breath, he collapsed on the porch and gasped,

“They nearly killed me… but the begonias are safe, Mom.”

Mom (Polly) just shook her head. Half love, half sarcasm, she brushed a leaf from his ear and kissed his dirt-smudged forehead. The squirrels were gone. The garden sighed in relief.

There they stood — the unlikely dynamic duo of backyard justice.

Little do they know: those squirrels will be back.

Cue the butterflies overhead.

Cue the heroic pose — him slightly winded, her holding him up.

🎶 “Underdog… Underdog… UNNNNN-DERRRRDOG!” 🎶

Even in real life, he always shows up.

And she is always the reason.

Yes, the flowers were a mess.

The gnome? Stomped beyond recognition.

Mulch everywhere — in places mulch should never be.

But when Polly looked at him — sprawled out, smiling, remembering her — she saw it clearly.

Maybe he didn’t quite recall what he was saving.

Or why he ran like a man on fire.

But he remembered her voice.

Her call.

Her need.

And that was enough.

Because even when memory fades — names, dates, whole days —love, instinct, and purpose remain.

The begonias were bruised. The battle was won. And the hero, her hero, still remembered what mattered most.

Her.

No cape required.

Mom and Dad, thank you for sharing your vulnerability. Sorry you had a challenging day but thank you for bringing it back.