Today is the puppy's birthday. No one cares but me. When I woke her up, I was singing, "They say it's your birthday. We're going to have a good time." Yes, I was cracking myself up.
She will no longer be referred to as "the puppy." She's graduated. From this day forward, she will just be Gabby.
As you might recall, the husband did not want another dog. As usual, I tried to abide by his wishes but ultimately, I did it anyway. She is a maniac and I don't care. I fell in love with her immediately and she makes me smile (or grimace) every day.
Our old dog was Holly -- her formal name was Roman Holiday. When the baby was little, I took him with me to pick her up from being spayed. The vet's office called back to the surgery center and said, "Would you please bring Holly Roman to the front?" The baby got a little attitude and said, "Her name is Roman Holiday!" He was 4.
When I first met our puppy, she was quite chatty with her litter mates. I had been toying with dog names in my mind. Then I met her and said, "She's quite gabby."
Big Daddy made it more formal and named her "Roman Gabrielle." (Not after the football player.) He pretends not to like her but he spends an inordinate amount of time with her. I get annoyed that she listens and obeys him. If he plays the piano, she gets a squeaky toy and plays along. He fakes nonchalance but I can see that he enjoys it. He thinks I let her walk all over me -- literally and figuratively. He's right.
There's a dog bakery near my house. It's slightly ridiculous and wildly expensive. I don't care. Big Daddy's out of town and the puppy became a dog today. I'm going there and get her a treat. If I get really crazy, I might put a candle in the puppy cupcake and sing Happy Birthday.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
You are your mother's daughter! Didn't she feed the neighbor's cat scollops?
I fed the neighbor's dog turkey from the deli. She was sadly neglected and underfed. I just did what I had to do.
Post a Comment