Happy Birthday ... to my dog

It's probably a good thing the oven was broken, or else we would've been that couple who makes a birthday cake for a dog.

"I think today's his birthday," I said Friday.

But we didn't get him anything, Dave said. And it was late. Hm.

We could say it's tomorrow, I offered. Then we could go pick him up something.

All while thinking, this dog who lays on the couch with his head hanging off the end; this dog who doesn't understand the physics of screen doors and cowers at the mere toss of a Frisbee -- we can't actually believe he knows it's his birthday.

Right?

Well. The next day, standing in the pet store, Dave and I went back and forth about what to pick up for our 1-year-old. Our 1-year-old dog.

I err on the side of cheapskate, picking up the 99 cent ball and the baggie of treats. Dave wanted to buy the whole cow that those shrink-wrapped bones came from, to wrap up and dip in chocolate for Mr. Big. And get that toy. And that bed. Both those dipped in dog-friendly chocolate, too, while we're at it.

As I tugged gently on his arm, trying not to look like that woman who's pulling her toddler away from the candy aisle in the store, I loudly whispered, "He's a dog, Dave. He doesn't even know it's his birthday."

"But he's our baby," Dave said. No. Oh, no. I've lost Dave. I've lost him to the crowd whose dogs sit more prominently in Christmas card photos and in cushier chairs at the holiday table. I've lost him to $8 denta-bones. I've lost him to lime green, cheaply made beds for dogs that Big would inevitably chew up and discard.

As if Dave would make him sleep in the floor.

Dave, let's go.

We need to get him a beef stick, Dave said. To lure him away and prove I'm not all bad, I grabbed two. Two 59-cent beef sticks. A bag of treats and a 99-cent ball.

When we got in the door, we stuffed Big's belly full of treats, made him fetch a ball that was almost too big for his tiny jaw, and made him do so many sit-lay-high fives that he eventually tried all three before we'd even asked him to.

So I take it back. He may not have understood he was turning 1. But by the indigestion and overwhelming attention he got, I'm sure he knew. And I'm sure we've created a monster. An attention-begging, whining monster. With the cutest little polka dot collar and tiny little brown and black spots on his soft white fur. Look at those eyes. You'd spoil him too.