>> Friday, January 8, 2010
I just realized that I completely missed the hounds' birthday. It was Wednesday, I think. So a belated happy birthday, kids!
We've never known for sure the real birth date for any of our pets since we always take in strays with who knows what history. We adopted the hounds from the local Humane Association when they were supposedly 2 years old. Their prior owner had surrendered them and had actually completed some paperwork about them. The spot for birthday on the form read "January 6, 2006". That makes them 4. Or 28 in dog years. They act more like 4.
There is, by the way, no such thing as a dog-proof house. A dozen baby gates and everything up high be damned - they always find a way to get into something.
They have definitely come a long way, as they now have enough confidence that we can even take them to the vet separately if we have to (so long as they're each with a human and not left alone), but it was a heck of a project to get them to that point. And the pure ecstatic joy they exhibit when they're reunited after even a few minutes apart makes me both shake my head in bewilderment and makes a little teary eyed.
Just because they can endure separation for brief stints when necessary, don't think they aren't still ridiculously symbiotic. By way of example, Lucy's never gotten the hang of asking to go outside when she needs to go, and now Simon consistently asks to go out when it's really Lucy who has to go. (Thank you, Simon. You have no idea how much I appreciate that little trick).
Well, anyway, despite all the torment you've dished out, my fine canine friends, I'm mighty glad your birthday happened, and that you wormed your wrinkly, droopy, stubborn, codependent ways into my house and heart.