It is the week for birthdays in the Baker family. Yesterday we celebrated Emerson's 2nd birthday (which isn't really until the 9th) with the craziest party ever to go down in the ATL. We ate, we chilled with her posse--whose collective age is still younger than mine--and their entourage (also known as parents), and we played on a moon bounce. I know you're jealous, but don't hate.
Today is Shelby's 15th birthday. If you don't know Shelby, A) you should...she's awesome, and B) she's my golden retriever. I think I can speak on behalf of everyone in my family when I say that we aren't really surprised that ol' Shelby has made it to the ripe age of 15 or, for those of you that are mathematically challenged, 105 in dog years. The dog is invincible. Really. In her life, she has survived almost anything that would normally kill a dog. Shelby has been quite obese for most of her life, she's had hip dysplasia for as long as I can remember, she was attacked by our neighbor's dog, she was run over by the newspaper boy, she almost chewed off her own tail, she has/had more tumors than I can count, and she's half blind and mostly deaf. The vet told us five years ago around this time of the year that Shelby was going to go to doggy heaven soon.
5 years ago. The running joke in our family has become, "Say goodbye to Shelby...it's her last Christmas," since my mom said that to us after the doctor gave her the ill-fated news of our poor dog. While I love my little energizer bunny--I mean, she's been my constant buddy since I was 5--I do believe that this will be her last Christmas. She's had a good run, and I am grateful that God has kept her around for so long. Here's a little something for the road...
Peace and love,
Lo B.
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