Then, about a year later (last October), I took them to the vet for shots. This was a new vet so I had to bring all of their papers to fill out forms and such. When I got to the birthday portion of the form, I realized that they were not 10 when we got them but had turned 10 during the year. Let's ignore the fact that my wife and I did not recognize their birthdays. We're new parents. The last thing I adopted was my Cabbage Patch Kid* when I was 6 (about the age these dogs may have been when we got them). Anyway, do you know what it's like to think you only have so much time with your dogs and then find out that you have an extra year? I should rephrase that: Do you know what it's like to be me and think you only have so much time with your dogs (don't forget you're me) and then find out that you have an extra year?!?
We get an email recently from the previous owner asking how the dogs are doing. She said she was sorry that she missed Girl Jerkface's birthday but she loved the pictures we sent her. See? We sent pictures. We're not terrible parents. Back off! So we realized we missed Girl Jerkface's birthday for the second possible time and I'd feel terrible if it wasn't for the fact that she turned 10. WHAT?!? How many times can these dogs turn 10? I checked the records and it's right mathematically. Someone must be messing with me. Every year, they turn 10! For the rest of time, 10! They're like Kirsten Dunst in Interview With a Vampire minus the bloodlust (hopefully...who knows what other surprises they're hiding?).
Do I love my dogs? That should go without saying. We cuddle. I feed them. There are walks. My hand brushes their backs from time to time. I just wish they would age because it's starting to freak me out a bit.
* - My Cabbage Patch Kid's name was Wilson Irv. Tell me he wasn't getting his butt kicked at Patch Academy. We sprung for private school because we knew he wasn't going to last a day in public school. I haven't seen him since he was taken from me in exchange for four dollars at a yard sale in the late 80s. Every once and a while, when I see a little kid getting beat up in an alley or a boy who is dragging his sister's doll behind his big wheel, I think about Wilson Irv and hope he's doing well.