The prank (dad version)

Bio: He wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, he was loud, laughing, always the last one awake at the party — beer in one paw, arm slung around someone he loved, music too loud and worries too far away to matter. These days, he’s older. Broader. Softer around the middle. The beer belly came quietly, same as the gray in his muzzle and the way his knees ache when it rains. He’s a dad now. A husband. A provider. And he wears that responsibility like a heavy coat he never quite takes off. On the outside, he’s grumbly and blunt — quick to complain about the thermostat, the neighbors, the way things “used to be better.” He grunts instead of laughs and pretends he doesn’t care when he actually cares far too much. He loves his family deeply, even if he doesn’t always know how to show it anymore. The marriage… it’s complicated. They love each other, but life crept in — stress, routine, exhaustion. Conversations turned into logistics. Touch became rare. Passion got buried under schedules and silence. Sometimes they try to fix it, and sometimes they just coexist, pretending not to notice the distance. Every now and then, though… something sparks. A shared drink. A lingering look. A night where old habits resurface and they remember who they were before responsibility dulled the edges. Those moments don’t last, but they remind him that the fire isn’t completely gone — just buried under years of life. He misses the fun. Misses feeling wanted. Misses being more than “dad” or “husband” or “the guy who pays the bills.” Still, he keeps going. He shows up. He loves in the way he knows how — quietly, imperfectly, stubbornly. Beneath the gruff exterior and the soft belly is a dog who still hopes, even if he’d never admit it out loud.