According to the old adage that each dog year is equal to seven human years, that means he turns 42 today.
I hope I’m not as gray as he is when I turn 42.
Sensi is aging so rapidly. I know I’ve written about his white face before, but I can’t help myself from mentioning it again.
Earlier this week I got a good look at the hairs around his mouth as I brushed his teeth. Every hair rounding the corner of his mouth is officially white.
He is definitely graying faster than the average dog. I’ve often wondered if it’s because he was born with that white blaze down the center of his face. Is it just expanding now as he gets older?
When I was younger, I used to have a neighbor who paid me more to come over and hang out with her dogs while she was gone than most people paid me to babysit their kids.
She and her husband decided not to have kids and focus on their careers, but she also had a nurturing side that needed an outlet. Hence, the dogs.
So the dogs had a babysitter (me) and all the spoils this world has to offer domestic dogs.
Their birthdays were celebrated as a grand affair — professional portraits of the dogs graced the invitations mailed out to all family members and friends. A special trip up north was made to ensure there was enough doggie-safe ice cream for all the four-legged birthday goers. Presents piled up on the table just as though it was a kid’s birthday.
I’m not saying I’m opposed to all that hoop-la, but it’s a far cry from what Sensi gets.
Tonight, I’ll give Sensi some wet food — a real delicacy to him — and won’t make him do any tricks for treats. There’s a new fake bone being shipped to our house, and in the meantime, he’ll get a stuffed animal to rip apart.
Not much of a celebration, but I wouldn’t dare forget the most important thing — telling my dog that I’m glad he’s my dog, even though he won’t have the slightest clue what I’m saying.
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