A dog's life

Today is our dog Harry's 8th birthday. The dog who was 49 pounds, most of it disgustingly dirty softball-sized mats of hair when we picked him up as a worm-infested, heavily abused, man-fearing dog from a tiny, ratty shelter in Watertown, South Dakota 7 years ago. On Day 1, he fell in our pool. Just walked right into it. On Day 2, he got shaved down to nothing to get rid of the gross. On Day 3, we found out he had a heart problem, which led to an expensive doggie cardiologist visit to find out he has a hole in his heart and an enlarged valve, but just like Monty Burns, it's such a precarious position of homeostasis, that it works for him. Oh yeah, and they told us he'd only live to about 5 as a result.

Happy 8th birthday, my hairy 75 pound dog of love. You just keep breaking the rules, buddy. Because I've never met a sweeter, more lovable ball of hair in all my life.