About six years ago, give or take a few days, Beatrice was born. Nine or eleven weeks later, Margaret brought her home.
Yesterday was something vaguely like her sixth birthday. She has aged a little, but has not lost her puppy-cuteness.
Now, on her most recent trip, the vet noticed that someone has been giving her more food for breakfast and dinner since Margaret moved to Durham (AKMA looks innocently away); she’s up to twelve pounds from her ideal weight of nine pounds. So she’s on a diet, even on her kinda birthday. But she still has fluff for brains, a sweet disposition, and is harmless as a butter knife. Happy birthday, Bea!
Happy Birthday!
Mind you, that also makes me feel old. It seems as though I remember, if vaguely, her homecoming. The “hey, the Adams have a dog!” phase. Hmmm.
Happy birthday (approx.) to Fluffy Bea!
Harmless as a butter knife?? Isn’t this the same animal that attempt a killer attack on a Doberman? Or do I have my stories confused?
Regardless, happy birthday. And a diet means more cake for AKMA.