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The Big 3

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3rd birthday (1)

If you already follow me on Twitter, apologies for the repetition, but yesterday was a Big Day. I turned 3. The big 3. Now the traditional way of translating dog to human years said that 1 dog year equalled 7 human years, but that’s not really accurate. We’re all slightly different after all, and we all have different (*gulps* I don’t even want to think about this…) life expectancies. If you look online there are various formulas, but I checked on two sites that I thought would know what they were talking about. First up, All Things Dog from Pedigree, which calculates my ‘human age’ as 28 years old, while the BBC has me just slightly older at 29.

So, that’s not old, but in your terms – ‘human’ terms (presuming you are human of course) – I’m definitely an adult. (I mean, I’m the same age as Robert Pattinson, as admired by Mum in those Dior ads. Jeez.) I have felt this adulthood thing coming on for a while, if I’m honest. Last year, when I turned 25, my Uncle Bracken took me to one side and said, “Son, you need a plan. You need to be the responsible man of the house now, which means you need to think about your future.” And, to be honest, this blog is part of that process: planning, thinking, evolving from a pup to become a Responsible Young Man.

You might imagine that getting older means that the Parents no longer expect me to do daft things. You’d be wrong. Just look at that photo above. Do I look happy? Even vaguely amused? Every year, Mum insists on a ‘birthday portrait’. On turning 1 I thought, okay, I can deal with this, Mum’s fussing over me and being quite cute. Fair enough. And I was, you know, 15. We all put up with a lot during those teenage years.

Year 2, it occurred to me that this could get embarrassing in time. I mean, how many 25 year olds have to put up with their mothers taking birthday portraits? But the Parents had bought me a new Mungo and Maud rope collar (pricy, but they last forever – literally, I’m still wearing mine) so I obliged them with a photo.

But this year, really? “One day, when you’re old and wizened and grey, you’ll look back on these photos and you’ll appreciate that you had them taken, albeit grouchily,” Mum said. Look, I plan to live until I am at least 124, at least (that’s 25 dog years), so if Mum thinks I’m putting up with this for the next 22 years…

3rd birthday (2)

Anyway, with the Big Day behind me, I’m now working on my ‘to do’ list for year 3. So far it reads:

1/ Get on a tram. After a massive hoopla, there are now trams running in Edinburgh. I’m an urban pup, I need to get on a tram.

2/ Be marginally less terrified of all other canines. I’ve filed this one under ‘work in progress’.

3/ Go to the beach more. Once a week ain’t cutting it, and some weeks I don’t get to go at all. I’m looking at you Parents…

4/ Find a way of acquiring a steady supply of chicken. My Uncle Bracken does this thing where he won’t touch his food, he gets really grouchy, as if he’s been starved and the life force is being dragged from his body, and Grannie caves and buys him Marks & Spencer roast chicken breasts. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Uncle B is no fool. I’ve had no such success with the Parents.

5/ Be able to have a conversation with a girl. See 2/ above. Terrified.

One more photo before I go, and that really is it for this year’s Birthday Portraits Portfolio. Phew.

3rd birthday (3)

 

 

 

 

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