If you’ve ever booked a hotel room on the very same weekend (and floor) as an out-of-town peewee hockey team when you’re not part of the tournament or even a parent for that matter, then you’d likely equate that experience to having route canal work done without freezing … by a group of whipped up twelve-year olds flinging cheese doodles at your forehead. While singing ‘What Does The Fox Say’ over and over. And over. And I mean R-E-A-L-L-Y loudly on that ring-ding-dingeringeding part.
Well I, too, have found myself in that very circumstance on more than one occasion, so I’ll admit to having felt some trepidation about going to our son’s hockey tournament in London last weekend. But it wasn’t actually Bodie’s teammates I was worried about. They all seem like a good bunch of kids with approachable, non-hockey-rabid parents in tow. In fact, it wasn’t rowdy hallways, lost sleep or player injuries that concerned me at all. It was something far more challenging and multifaceted.
Not only was this our first out of town tournament, it was also the first time we’d ever had to deal with a pet and what to do with it while we were gone. In the past we’d left beta fish for a day or two to fend for themselves (God rest their souls), but a rabbit? Our Winnie? It just seemed wrong.
So we packed him up and brought him with us! The hotel gave us their blessing (by way of a $45/night pet fee), which allowed for a conspicuous entrance and a little team bonding with Paul, one of our two gifted goaltenders (who promptly renamed Winnie ‘Mr. Snugglesworth’):
I set up our room by caging off a little bunny area at one end, which, after finishing my Fort Knox of rabbit enclosures, he promptly jumped over and flaked out on one of the beds. So I gave him the remote and told him we’d be back after dinner.
Throughout the weekend, the Titans played their hearts out while the families screamed their lungs out, and in the end, we came in third overall. Thankfully no one sustained any major injuries during the tournament either. Well, no players at least. I did, unfortunately, suffer a dislocated waistline.
Bloody cheese doodles.