Well, as of yesterday, we’ve officially had the pleasure of Hogan McSmall’s company for nine years. I instagrammed a pic from when we first brought him home and it’s the first time in my entire life I’ve felt compelled to use the #blessed hashtag. (Don’t worry, I didn’t actually do it. I’m not that mushy.)
I’d decided to really do it up since we’ve forgotten his birthday/anniversary pretty much every other year. I mean, yes, he’s pretty much spoiled daily but still. I think I had a fair amount of guilt about all the opportunities to party we missed. It’s not like Hogie has a Facebook page where he could get messages and gifs of squirrels from all his buds. (To those of you who will inevitably tell me he needs a Facebook page: NO. Not happening. Uh-uh. Stop it.) Anyhoo, the first thing we did to celebrate was walk him down to our local doggie store this past weekend. We decided we’d buy him whatever he “wanted,” meaning, I guess, whatever he showed any interest whatsoever in. He’s been pretty good at choosing his own toys and beds and stuff in the past. The dude has always been toy and food obsessed so I was prepared to walk out of there with forty-seven toys and all the treats but he seemed pretty apathetic about everything. His face has been grey for a couple of years but it didn’t really hit me how old he actually is (like 11 or 12 is our best guess) until he had his choice of anything in the entire store and he chose this:
Why yes, that is an old school newspaper dog toy and some freaking HAPPY HIPS treats for hip and joint wellness. Wow. He basically just wants to get his paper and his glucosamine and go on home, youngsters.
His “celebration” yesterday consisted of a bowl of carrots at lunch time, a rawhide chewy thing mid-afternoon and a pretty intense play session where I’d kick his soccer ball down the hallway, he’d retrieve it and then he’d yell at me for about two minutes. Then we’d do it again. I returned to the pet store at lunchtime to get him one little bone for dessert. I came home with this:
The girl at the store said that Hogie didn’t look a day over nine, which I guess was nice. I’m not really sure because I’m not very good at dog year math or any math, to be honest.
When Tim got home, we gave him the birthday bone on a plate. We made him stay and stare at it for a few seconds but then when I said, “okay,” he took it off the plate and onto the rug to eat for maximum messiness. Dude just really likes to party. Click here if you would like to see an exciting video of this.
After that, Hogie retired to his room for the night. (He has a Harry Potter closet under the stairs filled with his crate, bed and toy collection.) I would say it was a pretty good celebration but it’s not quite over. Tonight and tomorrow night he will get that long gross treat thing and that other bone-shaped gross treat thingy, respectively. And, who knows, maybe I’ll let him yell at me some more just for fun.