You came into my life on October 9, 2002. Since you were a rescue from the streets, the nice people from the shelter didn’t know your birthday. So I decided that your adoption day would be your birthday too.
That means that – at least according to us – you would’ve turned 9. Or 8, if we believe the vets who insisted that your teeth were young enough to make you a year younger. Whatever your true age, you were always my baby and I got you a special treat on your birthday. Or we went to get you a toy, remember?
I thought about what I should do today. You don’t have a grave, so much as I’d love to, I can’t bring you flowers. I thought of going to your favorite spot, but I’m being selfish and I don’t want to sit on that bench and get sad thinking of you (plus, I’d like to beleve that your favorite spot was on my bed, snuggled up to me). So I’ve put your urn across from me and I’ve talked to it a bit. Silly, I know, but it’s what I can do.
So Happy Birthday, pooper. I’m sure the party up in heaven is rockin’. Make sure you chase those squirrels good and you run around chasing balls bouncing on clouds. I love you.
P.S. Fabulous just told me today is World Dog Day. How’s that for a b-day present?
Ulli said,
October 10, 2009 at 6:23 pm
Hey little Dude!!!! There is a party in heaven and everyone is seraching for some FRESH AIR
Cause you are, uhm, potent in your stinkiness. 