A Birthday Poem from the Dog

Yes, yesterday was my stinking birthday. I don’t really like to talk about it because I hate celebrating it anymore and I refuse to tell anyone how old I am. The only reason I’m mentioning it now is because I wanted to tell you about the adorable card boyfriend got me.

The one from him would have been funny, but he accidentally wrote across the part that was supposed to be funny … oops. It was a derogatory compliment to my northern female body-parts (A.K.A. "The Twins"). He’s a bit predictable with his sense of humor, but he made up for it with his dinner arrangements. Dinner couldn’t have been more perfect unless there had been jewelry involved. One day, he’ll figure it out.

The card “from Enzo” read:

"A Birthday Poem from the Dog:

You feed me when I’m hungry,
You keep water in my dish,
You let me sleep on anything,
Or in any place I wish.

You sometimes let me lick your hands,
Or even lick your face,
Despite the fact I’ve licked myself,
In every private place.

You taught me how to come when called,
You taught me how to sit,
You always let me go outside,
So I can take a shit stroll.

I’ve been with you through oh, so much,
Through laughter and through tears,
I hope you live to be a hundred …

…(that’s 700 in doggy years.)

Happy Birthday
Love, Enzo"

It’s the little things that count.

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