Rod was not the best at skilled jobs that required him to work with his hands. Even simple things like his son’s Klondike Derby car ended up looking like a piece of wood chewed by a beaver with wheels attached. And it didn’t run any better than it looked. So, with his history in building things, the family all looked skeptical the day he announced he was building a house for their new dog.

“But, Honey,” his wife said, “you have never built anything that complicated. Why don’t you just buy one?”

“I’m just building a doghouse, not a mansion,” he laughed. “How hard can it be? And have you looked at the ridiculous price of a store-bought one? I can build it myself for half of that.”

His oldest son rolled his eyes. “Why don’t we just let the dog live in the house? It would be easier.”

“First off,” Rod said, “I grew up on a farm and learned that all animals belong outside. I’m already annoyed at having the dog sleep in the garage until I get his house built. Second, a dog tends to stink up things. And third, I don’t want the dog getting pampered. We let it in the house, and the next thing you know, it will think it has to sleep on my bed.”

No one could talk Rod out of it, and when he came home with a load of lumber the following Saturday, the family resigned themselves to the fact that there would be a doghouse. But when Rod asked if anyone wanted to join in the fun, he had no takers.

“When it is finished, knowing how Dad builds things, I don’t want anyone thinking I had anything to do with it,” the oldest daughter said.

“Well then, I’ll just claim all the credit when it turns out beautifully,” Rod said.

“You can count on it,” his daughter replied.

Rod got at it. He had in mind what he wanted it to look like. He cut one board just more than four feet. The rest of the board was close to the same, so he used it for the opposing corner. Surely it wouldn’t matter if it were an inch or two different. He faced the same issue many times, making the same decision. He was proud of his frugality. It was late afternoon when he finished it, and he called the family out to view his work.

Everyone gathered and stared at it. “Is it supposed to lean to one corner like that?” Rod’s wife asked.

“It will make the water and snow roll off the roof better,” Rod replied.

The family stood there, not knowing what to say, when a friend of Rod’s stopped by. Rod brought him over to where the family was. “What do you think of our new doghouse?”

The friend stared at it momentarily, then said, “That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen. I hope you didn’t pay good money for it. If you did, you should take it back and get a refund.”

The family members’ snickering and glancing at Rod must have clued the friend in that Rod built it because he suddenly got a mortified look and said, “Of course, all that really matters is what the dog thinks of it.”

They called the dog over, and he seemed thrilled at the attention. But when he was pushed up to the doghouse, he sniffed it, then backed away. When Rod tried to push him into it, he growled, wiggled free, ran, and hid.

The friend laughed. “Maybe it will grow on him. No other dog will have one quite like it.”

And that’s how the dog ended up sleeping on Rod’s bed. As for the doghouse, Rod invited his family to join him for a wiener roast when he burned it. And everyone complimented him on his ability to make a good fire.