Happy Birthday, Pupstar

Today, or sometime around today, you are twelve. We chose today because you seemed to be about 8 weeks old when Babs picked you up on the side of the road. That was December 9, 1995.

Evil Babs was going to take you to the Mississippi Animal Rescue League. A misnomer, as you would have only lasted 8 days there before you became another pet who never got to go home. I couldn't bear to let that happen.

You spent the next few months going everywhere with me. Sneaking into the music building. Sneaking until we realized that all the professors loved you and didn't mind you being around.

You hated crate training. Hated. It. You had to be house broken without it, and you were. Our roommate did lose some biology notes to one of your accidents, but other than that, you did pretty well.

Sleeping in my shoes was one of your favorite pastimes. And you have always liked to spoon. You always liked it until Cleatus and Bird came along. Then you started preferring the floor by me. Until finally you have started camping out by Guy's side of the bed because of my frequent potty breaks during the night. Sorry about stepping on you, Love.

One day, I came back the apartment and found Ashley tossing a pink spikey football across the floor to you. You instinctively brought it back over and over again. The never ending game of catch started that day. You went on to beat out many Labradors at the vet school's Doggie Olympics in the fetch competition. I am so proud.

The tricks you know aren't traditional. You can "Get your tail," "Get the bunny," and then there is the oh so wrong, "Break it's neck." That one is of course reserved for your plush toys, and when given, you shake that plush toy back and forth with great determination that it will never squeak again.

Guy says that you know more words than any dog he has ever met. He used to try and tease you. He would say, "Wag your tail if you like me better than your momma." I would stand behind him with one finger lifted, and you would wait, like a good girl, not wagging your tail until I dropped that finger. It was months before he figured out our little scheme. He thought you understood every word he was saying. And honestly? You probably did.

You have been my constant companion over the past 12 years. Through everything, you have never left my side, nor have I left yours.

Dysfunctional. Codependent. Whatever. I love you, Pupstar. My sweet little pup.

Happy birthday.