I told Mike and Heather not to make a big deal about my birthday last Sunday, and much to my dismay they generously complied. So I received no lavish gifts, no trips to the doggie day spa, no surprise parties with Frank and Stanley. I wound up with just a few humble highlights.
First I got two large-sized plates of leftover pancakes and syrup in the morning. Mike is never one to leave much on his plate, but it’s better than nothing. Heather is more considerate.
My birthday was a warm, sunny day, and we went for a long walk in the park, where I posed on the stone wall for birthday photos and hopped through the South Meadow after field mice and voles. Didn’t get any, but I got in enough digging to turn the tip of my nose brown.
We also played a lot of fetch, and I’m getting pretty darn good at it. I’m even learning how to “throw” the ball back by knocking it with my paw. My aim gets better all the time.
When we got home from the park, we had the real highlights of the day: I saw Gracie, my good friend from down the street, and I exchanged some birthday kisses with the old girl. She’s sweet to me. Even better, I got to chase the Bartons’ cat through their back yard and the back yard of Susan, their next-door neighbor. I sure did enough barking to alert the whole neighborhood, but I was never able to catch the darn thing. It was great fun, anyway, and when Heather finally caught me I heard them talking and finally found out the name of the Bartons’ cat: Beau (or is it Bo?). Thank goodness; know thine enemy, I always say. Now I just have to find out how to spell it.
Two years old? Really? They go by so quickly. All the time, I hear Mike and Heather say that I’m growing into being a really good dog. But now that I’m two, will expectations rise? Am I grown up already, a puppy no longer?
Nah, don’t think so.