The best part of travel is coming home

I left home for Washington, D.C., early Friday morning, Oct. 29. I returned home on the evening of October 31, and woke up at 3 the following morning to get to the airport for a 6:30 am flight to the west coast for a client project.

At a little after 5:30pm yesterday, almost two full weeks after I left for Washington, I parked my car again in my own driveway. My car. Not a rental car. The key to my front door, not the plastic room key for a room that looked exactly like everyone else's.

Wifey was at work, so do you know what the best part about coming home was?  Hearing Cami and Harry's excited squeaks, happy barks and feeling them jumping on me again with unrestrained glee. I then had to endure a full-blown Dachshund kissing assault. It was vicious, let me tell you. I barely survived.

Don't get me wrong. Having breakfast with Woody, and meeting the rest of the gang was great. But nothing, not even quality Flat-Coated Retriever time, replaces the sheer joy of my own kids.  (Please don't hate me, Woody. You know I love you.) Picking them up, hugging, snuggling and kissing their furry little heads can't be equaled by anything else.

Once I sat down in my comfy leather chair, Harry immediately jumped up to snuggle in. That's what I missed. We later had a squeaky toy tug of war. They're happy to have dad back.

Ah, the joys of home.

Photo credit: Harry with his new multi-squeaky toy, P Greene.