Today is Ralph’s made-up birthday; she’s eight years old, approaching “senior dog” status. Dogs don’t know what birthdays mean, and I don’t need a designated day to appreciate my best girl, but every year on January 8, I end up writing about Ralph and how thankful I am to have her.
Sometimes I hear a particularly poignant love song, and rather than think about a person I’ve loved, I think about Ralph the Girl-Dog. Sometimes I think about how special Ralph is and I feel like I could die. Sometimes I have felt like I wanted to die, and Ralph kept me from making plans. Sometimes I think about Ralph’s inevitable death and wonder who I will be after she is gone.
These are heavy truths to tell about an animal, but there are enough songs and stories about dogs in the world for me to know my feelings are not unique. This dog, on the other hand… this dog is a freaking snowflake. Happy made-up birthday to my number one pal, who can’t read, so she won’t know it if I tell you her breath smells like dead feet but I’ma let her lick me in the face anyhow.
