Not enough to change the dander filled joy that my two rescues give this household though, not for anything.
For all the sneezes and snorts and stretches that are uniquely theirs, for the furry footfalls that follow us onto the kids’ beds at story time, and the faces that nuzzle us awake each morning, they have my heart.
We rescued them both from the Birmingham Humane Society, three years apart. With little more to go on than what the volunteers knew of their temperament and our own observations of paw size (inside dog small-ish), we made it official and our family grew, one fur baby at a time.
On November 29th, we will celebrate their 14th and 10th birthdays respectively, doing something I once thought ridiculous. Instead of gifting them a new bone or chew toy, or doling out extra treats in their honor, we will pile into the car and head over to a certain pet boutique famed for the birthday parties it hosts for four-legged friends.
With apologies to our vet whose last notes gently scolded somebody’s weight and encouraged us to “give vegetables as treats!”, they are older and achier and release shockingly loud farts in their sleep. They also love us well and loyally as ever, in the grateful way only rescued dogs can. For however many Novembers they are ours, we’re going to spoil them silly.
Happy early, old girls!