November 13, 1997. That was the day my Farley dog was born. He was small, slept a lot and was pretty much a lazy boy. Skip ahead 9 years and things really haven’t changed much. Except for his weight. He’s blossomed from being the 5 pound puppy to being the 68 pound puppy. Still lazy. Still sleepy. He’s my little guy and my best friend. He’s seen me through two marriages, one divorce, several different homes and a few job changes. All the while he’s never really wanted more than to just be included.  I love my puppy dog with every iota of my being.

Truth be told, he’s like a small, furry old man. He gets cranky and he’s set in his ways. He has facial expressions that range from ‘I’m too sleepy to do anything. Take the big dog instead.’ to ‘Oh, My GOD! That was the bestest joke I’ve ever heard!’. We’ve had conversations. I talk to him about things and he listens patiently. He knows exactly when to put his head in my lap and I always forgive him for falling asleep while I’m telling him my problems.

Farley laughs, farts, begs, has stolen a sandwhich from my table only once, and enjoys a good adventure (the car ride, not so much). When he’s comfortable he makes noises and sleeps on his back with all four legs in the air. When he scratches a good spot he makes a squeaky noise.

Happy Birthday, Ol’ Fudgey Butt. I love you and hope that you have many, many more birthdays in the future.