Nothing makes me happier than finding another word to insert fur into. Actually, I like to insert fur just about anywhere—car seats, clothing, furniture. Did you hear it? Fur-niture? I didn’t even have to mess with that one.
Anyway, this weekend is the 9th anni-fur-sary of me becoming part of T and Nollind’s fur-family. Nine years! Can you believe it? Nine years of snuggles, snacks, and adventures. It was a lucky day when T spotted my photo on the Misty Creek Dog Rescue website and thought it would be fun for Nevada to have a mini-me. I started off as a foster dog, but I think it was more of a try-before-you-buy situation and, after quickly wedging myself into their hearts, I was adopted.
At the time, the rescue said I was two years old. So, January 26 is also the closest thing I have to a known birthday. On Sunday I turn eleven.
In the world of dogs, eleven puts me well into my senior years, but I really don’t feel old. I’m more inclined to trot than run full out these days and I can’t jump up on the bed anymore but, other than that, not much has changed. I never was much of a jumper so I’d really rather be lifted anyway.
Logan was the opposite. In his younger days, he could jump like a deer, and he continued to jump into and onto things far beyond his ability. T or Nollind used to block his way when the truck door opened so that he wouldn’t crash. I make a good senior as I’m happy to have assistance. And, I can still hop up on the couch. All is good.
I’m not sure how we’ll celebrate my combined birthday/anni-fur-sary. Extra treats are always a good option. A walk somewhere new or different would be fun. An afternoon nap maybe (and probably one or two in the morning and another two or three in the evening). And cuddles of course. I do love to cuddle.
When we were out walking yesterday, T and Nollind were talking about the upcoming occasion, and that my arrival in their lives also marked the first year of their RV adventures. I think I can pretty much take credit for five winters of southbound trailer trips and a bunch of Canadian camping. My adventurous spirit inspired them to travel (and in a fashion that suited the inclusion of dogs).
If Logan were here, he might try to claim some responsibility but, we all know that his travel anxiety never inspired anyone to hit the road. We just dragged him along because we liked him so much.
So, nine years in my fur-ever home and eleven years on this planet later, life is good for this colourful canine. If it weren’t for my face fading to a lighter shade of pale, nobody would be the wiser when it comes to my age. Maybe I can get a dye job? Then again, I remember the tomato-face experience. I think I’ll stick with my frosty look.