My better two-thirds,

Today you are both three years old. Happy birthday! Drinking age!

I must keep that pace in mind. We fancy our “birthday months” on this end of the mammalian spectrum. You are toasting three years in one day on this planet. So let us raise a paw high:

Jadie, my mocha heart. You once cast those golden eyes for assurance and attention. Now you gaze them when I need either. Or both. Or all.

Charlie, you are the surprise co-pilot. A rescue pit/beagle (peagle?) once suspicious of men, now you fight the temptation to jump into laps. You are up for any ride, down for any walk. Or either. Or both. Or all.

You two have seen me back to my feet, and made good your pledge to retake the park. Though, you still whimper on every approach there, as if we would somehow forget it. Every visit is Just. That. Crucial.

In the spirit of Harold and Maude, I didn’t get you anything. We all know where it would wind up, anyway. Instead, let me tell you how much you matter.

In our three years, you have taught me maths beyond time’s relativity. You have shared your Work-Life Theorem, the 7-Second Anger Rule, and the upside of any tennis ball. You have taught me the Canine Equation: that every dog deserves a human, though the formula does not always work in reverse. Yet I’ll be damned if I can find any bitterness.

What do you give a gift? How do you celebrate a celebration?

Beats me, but belly up to the bar, young adults. This wine-dipped rawhide is on the house. And have I got some great stories to tell you about your aunt Caroline.