Happy Birthday, Caleb!

Dear Caleb,

You are three years old today. Maybe. Nobody is quite sure of your exact birthday, except for you, and you are not telling. Regardless, you are quite firmly in the adolescent phase of your development. Your abilities to ignore me when I am talking to you rival my own when I was a teenager and one parental unit or another insisted on flaunting their authority. If we were the same species, we would totally be related.

You have mastered The Look. You know the one; the one you first used to communicate your desire to revoke the unjust "No Doggies on the Couch" rule that was in effect for awhile. The Look that now sends me leaping up to fluff your pillow and arrange your fuzzy blue blanket for you so you can snore contentedly on said couch. The same look that says, "You can either pick me up and put me on the bed, or I will help myself to the bed, but remember my hips...do you REALLY want me jumping up that high?" I blame The Look for never being able to finish a bagel or a piece of toast, you always get the last bite.

But despite The Look, you are not a diva; More of a benevolent dictator, I would say. I may be the leader of the pack, but we both know it is because you simply have better things to do (sleep 16 hours a day), and the daily operations of life (somebody has to buy the kibble) bore you. You do most everything I ask of you, even wear silly costumes for pictures (Sorry about that, by the way). You have shown yourself to be a true gentlemen to people of all ages, sizes, and colors. You get along with everyone at doggy daycare and at the dog park, large and small. You defend me from the maniacal whippets and the obnoxious miniature schnauzers on our walks. It is nearly impossible to be sad around you. You do your best to chase away the blues, sometimes stomping them out with a corgi dance in my lap to get me up and out of my funk and on with life, or at least, out the door so we can go for a walk.

You are turning into quite the well trained little corgi. You earned your CGC this year, much to the amazement of the folks at doggy daycare who observe your frenzied hysterics first hand. But do not worry, there is no contradiction in my mind. You behave when I ask you to, it is just harder to stay focused in the canine equivalent of Disneyland. You still greet some folks a little too jubilantly, but we are working on it. You have earned my trust to be off leash in a growing number of places, your recall is pretty dang reliable. You even leave the cat alone most of the time; Sophie the cat does not know how good she has it - you do not nip when you herd!

You are such an easy, joyful, loving, footstool shaped, sheds-like-it-is-going-out-of-style dog, I would not change a thing about you. I have never regretted perusing Petfinder that otherwise ordinary day when the whim struck me to get a dog, and I am quite sure that no matter how many dogs join the insanity that is our little pack, they broke the mold with you.


Happy Birthday, Buddy Bear!


PS: No cake for you, Mr. Finicky Tummy, but there may be some boiled chicken in your future. I know, I know, such sacrifices must be made. I am sure you will make do.