Birthday Boy Bogie

Holy crapamole, today I’m 11!

They keep telling me that I’m supposed to be some sort of senior citizen, supposed to be slowing down, supposed to stop carrying bundles of sticks. A big middle paw to that!

I may move a little slower, it may take me a little longer, but damnit I still love to walk every single day, chase squirrels, rabbits, deer, and moles (and one day I’m gonna catch one, despite mama’s best efforts), run through the park chasing sticks, and telling the neighborhood cats to get off of my lawn. Grumplestiltskin? Sure. Whenever I damn well feel like it.

But you know what? 2.5 years ago I almost died because of the giant tumor in my belly, but because my mama believed in my true Terrier spirit, I got another shot.

My Airedale dad Hannibal would be proud. My human dad Klaus would be proud. I’m still kicking ass and taking names, and protecting mama from any and all perceived threats. I’m still not sure about this humidity crap, tho.



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