Dad Bods and dogs

I spent the weekend surrounded by wet dogs, dead ducks, a thicket of camo… and Dad Bods.

“Dad Bods, man. They’re like, a thing. And we got ‘em!” This, from one fifty year old to another, his voice rising to an adolescent squeak. “WE… are sexy!”

“We’re… sexy?” His friend’s reply hints at a lost world, a distant fantasy, an impossible dream. “You and me are… sexy?”

Beer mugs are raised. Stomachs are scratched. Prurient possibilities are pondered.

Wives glance at each other.

“Yeah. I’m tellin’ ya. Google it. Dad Bods. We got Dad Bods and we are hot.”

With so much sexy going on, it was hard for a girl to focus this weekend at the Cape Breton Retriever Club Hunt Test. Luckily for me, and the several other women in attendance, most of this tantalizing man-flesh was so fully covered in camo that we were able to restrain ourselves from overt demonstrations of lust. Phew. Thank god for camo.

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A Hunt Test is an event where dogs proceed through a series of increasingly challenging retrieving tests, advancing from Junior, to Senior, to Master Hunter with each successful pass. Each level includes land and water retrieves, moving on to blind retrieves and quarter flushes as the dogs proceed in their training. It’s challenging and exciting, and I usually get to sit out in the field as a thrower, with a bucket of dead ducks at my feet, allowing me an unobstructed view of the Dad Bods as they bring their dogs to the line. Even in the deepest camo ensemble, I can pick out my man out at 200 yards.

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Oh, hello there Mr. Delicious. Would you like me throw a dead duck for you?

That, my friends, is true love!

This weekend was the very first Hunt Test for the CBRC, and they outdid themselves with hospitality and organization and good times. There was lobster. There were mussels. And somewhere, under the camo, under the several decades of manhood, there were muscles. The Dad Bods were the icing on the cake.

Or something like that.

This is, of course, completely unfair. The corresponding Mom Bod was not discussed. Imagine two women poking each other in the belly as they affirm their newly reclaimed middle-aged sexiness. Why are our sagging bodies not bringing sexy back? Why do we not revel in our advancing age and expanding middles? It’s Mars and Venus, baby. And never the twain shall meet.

Retriever Clubs seem to be male dominated, but the bright flower of womanhood flits around the edges of this testosteronic world. There are several female trainers in our circle, and wives and girlfriends basking in the glow of their partners’ animalistic sexual magnetism.

Or something like that.

But it’s mostly the boys, and the dogs, and the sun and the grass and the odor of dead duck on the breeze.

As for the girls? At the end of the day, if you can pick out your man from the camo shrubbery, and if the dog has been successful, you get to take home a ribbon and a hunk of man flesh to play with. Peel off those layers of camo and see what all the fuss is about.

Dad Bods. So sexy.

Or something like that.

(Many thanks to the Cape Breton Retriever Club for an awesome weekend!)

PicMonkey Collage

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