On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam's family got a new puppy. It's been nearly ten years since they got their last dog and much of his memory of having a puppy is gone. The memories are coming back fast.

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We got a puppy. Her name is Rosie. She's a doodle of some sort. And while I say "we" got a puppy, truth be told, my wife got herself a puppy and the family will share it with her. My wife stalked Rosie down when the litter was one week old. It was in Hudson, Indiana and she found it through an online search using something called puppyfinder.com. Rosie came from a litter that had its own web page. Long gone are the days of classified ads in the newspaper announcing free puppies to anyone who can come get them. Rosie has a microchip. She has papers, or something like that. And I don't have the courage to ask my wife how much she cost. My wife drove twenty hours round trip with a night in a hotel to get her.

And Rosie is the boss of our house right now. I'm unsure if she is our pet or if we are her pet. If a pet is defined as an animal that brings joy and entertainment, then we are most definitely her pet. Any whine from the dog gets someone's full attention. Whenever she goes for a toy, someone is there to help her play with it. And she has wipers. She uses the bathroom with reckless abandon, and someone is there to wipe it up and wipe her up. No sultan or pharaoh ever had it so good.

She sleeps sporadically. We take turns getting up with her throughout the night, me standing outside in the cold in the dark in my underwear saying things in a high-pitched dog voice that I hope will goad her in to going to the bathroom. "Be a good girl. Be a good girl, Rosie. You know you need to go. Go ahead. Be a good girl. Squat, please. Squat. Please." Then I bring her back to her crate and get back into my warm bed, hoping she won't whine. Long ago, when our kids wouldn't go to sleep, we'd feed them Benadryl. However, get caught drugging a dog so that it will sleep will call out the pet gestapo. People will tolerate some sort of non-traditional methods of raising your children. But get caught doing something considered unusual to a dog and whew! People will take your pet from you then burn your house down.

Puppies are, though, perhaps the cutest animals on the planet. But they require vigilance. And surveillance. My wife has paid and subscribed to an app on how to raise puppies and train dogs. It says we aren't to tell the puppy No until they're older. I didn't ask my wife if there were fine print telling us to throw our common sense out the window. But we have, in favor of an app. Thankfully the app has not prohibited me from hollering WHAT ARE YOU CHEWING NOW. Or DON'T BITE THAT DON'T BITE THAT DON'T BITE THAT. Or WAIT WAIT LET ME GET YOU OUTSIDE. Or saying to my wife, "I think it's your turn to wipe it up."

I'm Cam Marston, just trying to keep it real.

On today's Keepin' It Real, Cam admits to packing something very strange on his recent trip. The result is an encounter he's always hoped for - it was the fulfillment of a long-held dream.

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There is a series of episodes of the old sitcom Cheers where the character of Cliff Claven visits Florida and won't stop talking about it when he gets back. I'm about to do the same from my wife and my short trip to Belize. Last week's commentary was on the Mayan ruins my wife and I visited there. Today it's my Belize hummingbird story.

I love these little birds. To me, any animal that moves like they do and flies as quickly as they do and their only food is, essentially, sugar water deserves respect. They expend extraordinary energy with a diet that consists of only Gatorade.

When my wife and I got into our hotel room, I unzipped my luggage and assembled the hummingbird feeder I brought. My wife was unaware I had packed it and she gave me a look of concern. "Maybe you've gone too far," she was saying, "when you travel with your own hummingbird feeders." I filled it with the sugar water I had packed in a thermos and stepped outside the hotel room and found a tree branch and hung it up where I could easily see it and get close to it. By that first afternoon, a blue headed hummingbird had found it and was feeding regularly. It was very active at the feeder in the evenings and morning and each day I'd sit near the feeder and get closer and closer to it so that it began to recognize me and realize I was no threat. On day three I put out small feeders that fit in the palm of my hand. They have a small elastic band on them that you can fit over your finger. I left them near the feeder and the bird began feeding from these smaller ring feeders and I kept them full. I tried to get close, but the bird would dart away. It was a much larger bird than the ones at our feeders here in Mobile, maybe twice the size, and when it flew it made a huge buzzing sound. I tried repeatedly - it wouldn't let me get close.

We were leaving Belize on day four. Checkout was eleven AM and we had to eat and pack and get on the road. I woke early, got near the feeder and put the ring fingers on the index finger in both hands and sat as still as I could next to the feeder. And he came. He fed at the feeder then came to ring feeders in my hand and hovered, eyeing me and the feeders warily. I could feel the wind from his wings. And then he drank. I watched as a dream of mine came true – I was hand feeding a hummingbird that I had lured in over four days. He came back and I had my phone camera on and video'd it and showed it to my wife when she woke. I was giddy and I'm not sure why. Such a simple thing but, man, it was awesome.

I'm Cam Marston and I'm just tryin' to keep it real.

On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam and his wife went to Belize in December and visited some of the ruins that Belize is famous for. On his trip he stood atop one of the Mayan temples and realized that though it was a long time ago, maybe things haven't changed that much.

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Just prior to the full brunt of the holidays my wife and I took a quick trip to Belize. I wanted to warm up for a few days – I'm perpetually cold – and see what is known as the broadleaf jungle. We headed inland, into the mountains towards our small hotel. As the altitude got higher, we entered something called the Mountain Pine Ridge Forest. The hills, the red color of the dirt, and pine trees as far as I could see reminded me a lot of Clark County, Alabama. Fortunately, the lodge sat low along a creek and just like in Clark County, the hardwoods were plentiful along the creek side. Towering and massive trees of species I'd never seen. It was beautiful.

One day we drove aways and spent a long while at the Mayan ruins of Caracol. You've seen them in pictures. Massive stone pyramids made about 1400 years ago in the heyday of the Mayan civilization, reclaimed by jungle when the Mayans abandoned their civilizations and rediscovered about ninety years ago by a logger looking for Mahogony trees.

It occurred to me as my wife and I stood atop the tallest pyramid looking out for hundreds of miles over the jungle canopy, that men sure like to make other men carry rocks up hills. Rocks, by their very nature, typically want to be at the bottoms of hills or they make up the very hills themselves. Why is it that men, to boast of their power and influence, force others to put rocks on top of each other until they've created something massive? Why rocks? Why up? Why fight against nature and gravity? "Hey," someone said. "See that big rock there? Go put it up there," he said, pointing to a higher point. "Naw," the other person said. "It's down there for a reason. Rocks go downhill. That's the way it works. That's what makes them heavy – they like being down at the bottom of hills. Maybe we can put some dried leaves up there. That would look nice." "No," he said in reply, "It'll be rocks up there. You were captured in the last war between our tribes so please get started." So, we got pyramids.

Every continent in the world except Antarctica and Australia have stone pyramids, built my men to boast to their citizens and enemies about their power and influence. Seems to be a thing. And they didn't share blueprints, they each did it on their own. Rocks stacked high. And the Mayans would build over the previous king's temple and make theirs higher. Temples stacked on temples. Rocks stacked on rocks. All carried up. Higher and higher. Men. Trying to boast.

It has, however, occurred to me that on my back patio is a brick fireplace with a block of granite high up in the center of the chimney that the brick mason put there at my request. The rock was hauled to Mobile all the way from North Carolina. And, I really like to show it off.

I'm 1400 years distant from the Mayans but maybe I'm not all that different. I kinda get it.

I'm Cam Marston just trying to keep it real.