Now if it were me, I’d spend my birthday romping in the woods, futilely chasing squirrels and following my nose wherever it led me. And if that doesn’t sound like a special way to spend your birthday, you are missing the point that for a dog every day is a special day, which I might add is a pretty good philosophy to live by, birthday or not.
My mistress celebrated her birthday recently, just a few weeks after careful readers will recall that I celebrated mine and I must say I much prefer my version.
My birthday included some snappy new dog toys, which I made short order of in search of the most interesting part which as any dog knows is the squeaky bladder that lies within. I also scored a Red Sox bandanna which I chewed to ribbons in honor of their abysmal past performance, (I am named Theo and take my fan status seriously even though my namesake has departed to an even more hapless team) and a general suspension of the no-begging rule which included some tasty birthday cake and an extra portion of dog treats.
All in all, a very good day.
My mistress’s birthday on the other hand consisted of a month of general fretting about the upcoming day, a noticeable uptick in the aches and pains quotient as expressed to me on our daily walks, and a seasonal malaise (an emotion completely foreign to dogs) that accompanied her great misfortune to be born in the dead of winter.
Not that I didn’t try to console her (one of my strongest points.) I reminded her that dogs do a very good job of living outside time, even though humans keep reminding us that one dog year is like seven of theirs, a subject that polite dogs would never bring up if the shoe were on the other paw. Not that the math, with its implicit message that we are likely to get to the end of the road before them, depresses us. Anyone who has ever unleashed us knows that we don’t do math and we always get to the end of the road first.
We just don’t worry about it.
Now if it were me, I’d spend my birthday romping in the woods, futilely chasing squirrels and following my nose wherever it led me. And if that doesn’t sound like a special way to spend your birthday, you are missing the point that for a dog every day is a special day, which I might add is a pretty good philosophy to live by, birthday or not.
But my mistress, to her credit, decided to celebrate her birthday by surrounding herself with family and friends, which is a pretty good second choice if your romping days are behind you. She seemed to have a fine time singing doggerel songs (my favorite) in which many words seemed to rhyme with “Depends” but whose general theme as I took it was that although Aging’s Hell (sung endlessly and slightly out of meter to the tune of “Silver Bells”) one could be buoyed by the knowledge that at least everyone was going through it together.
The guest speaker (me of course) added some self-serving but sincere praise about my mistress’s best qualities (forgiving of faults, never too busy to cuddle, and a strong tolerance for doggy breath) and some canine wisdom about living in the moment, viewing a short memory as a virtue, and adoring others as you would like to be adored.
In other words be a dog.
Or just think like one, and act accordingly.
All in all, when the guests had gone home and dishes cleared (I helped with the usual prewash by licking the plates) I like to think that I made her birthday just a little brighter, just as she had for me.
After all, we’re in this together,
See you around the birthday cake.
Theo Chipkin doesn't do email, but you can reach him through his agent at rchipkin@repub.com