So, I got this bright idea, right? “I’m gonna build 6 dog kennels.” Seemed simple enough on paper. You know, a bit of wood, some screws, maybe a couple of weekends. My neighbor, old man Jenkins, he slapped one together for his yappy beagle in what looked like an hour, so how hard could six really be? Famous last words, and boy, did I eat ’em.
First off, getting the materials was a total circus. I figured I’d just zip down to the local hardware store, grab what I needed. Nope. They had some crap, but not enough of the decent treated lumber, not by a long shot. So, I ended up burning gas driving to three different joints. By the time I lugged everything back, half a day was shot, and I hadn’t even looked at a saw.
- I measured everything, or at least I thought I did, like a real pro.
- Started cutting the first few pieces. Actually felt pretty good about myself for a minute there.
- Then I tried to bang together the first frame. And that’s when I figured out my “simple” plans were a joke. Nothing lined up like it was supposed to.
This whole kennel mess, it wasn’t just me being an idiot with a hammer, though there was probably some of that too. My sister, bless her chaotic heart, she tries to run this small dog rescue. Just a handful of volunteers, always swamped, always broke. She calls me, practically bawling, “We got this sudden dump of six new dogs, way bigger than we expected, and we’ve got nowhere proper to keep ’em separated and safe until we figure things out.” What am I gonna say to that? “Sorry, sis, busy watching paint dry?” So yeah, I was committed. It felt a lot like that time I told my cousin I’d help him move “a few boxes.” Turns out he was secretly hoarding a library and a small collection of anvils. This kennel project started feeling like those anvils by the end of day two.
I remember just standing there in the yard, surrounded by a battlefield of half-cut wood, a stack of receipts that looked like they could choke a horse, and one kennel frame that wobbled if you looked at it too hard. My back was screaming, I had a splinter like a damn javelin in my thumb, and the dogs weren’t even here yet. I seriously asked myself, more than once, “Why didn’t I just tell her to buy some cheapo plastic crates and call it a day?” But then I’d picture my sister, and those mutts needing a decent, safe spot. Sometimes you just gotta suck it up and push through the stupid, right?
So, I buckled down. I re-measured. I re-cut. I swore like a sailor, not gonna lie. My wife started bringing me coffee and sandwiches, probably just to check if I’d finally lost it and set the whole pile on fire.
The second kennel actually went a bit faster. I guess I learned from all the ways I messed up the first one. By the third, I was almost, almost, getting a rhythm. Then, of course, it rained. For two solid days. Everything had to get dragged under tarps. The yard looked like a refugee camp for bad lumber.
- Getting the roofs on was a special kind of hell. Trying to hold a heavy sheet of plywood over my head with one hand, fumbling for the drill with the other… let’s just say there were some colorful words and a few near misses.
- And the wire mesh for the doors and windows! That stuff’s out to get you. It’s like wrestling a damn octopus made of razor blades, and it always wins a few rounds.
- I even decided to paint the stupid things, for “extra weather protection.” More time, more mess, more paint in places paint should never be. But I gotta admit, they did look pretty decent once that was done. Solid.
Finally, after what felt like a year but was probably closer to a week and a half of every spare second I had, all six kennels were actually done. Lined up in my disaster zone of a yard, they actually didn’t look half bad. My sister came over, took one look, and pretty much burst into happy tears. That, I guess, made most of the agony worth it. Mostly.
You know, it’s a funny thing. You start some dumb project like “6 dog kennels,” thinking it’s just about hammering nails into wood. But it’s almost never just that, is it? It’s about trying to figure stuff out when nothing goes to plan. It’s about dealing with your own temper when you want to throw your hammer through a wall. It’s about why you’re even bothering in the first place. Kinda like that soul-crushing office job I had years ago, where they just expected you to churn out nonsense without any real thought for what it was for. You just did it. But this kennel disaster, every mis-cut board, every smashed thumb, it actually meant something. Those dogs needed a safe place. Sometimes the “why” is the only thing that drags you through the “how.”
And yeah, next time she gets that look in her eye about “just a few kennels”? We’re having a serious talk about the price of pre-fabs first. And she’s buying the beer. Lots of it.
