Abby is 7 or 49 today, depending on if you have 2 feet or 4.
You may recall that Abby’s date of birth – 8/21 – was one of Lynnette’s goat logic reasons why we were destined to purchase the dog and make her our family pet and mascot. 8 is my favorite number and 21 was the number I’d use whenever 8 was unavailable. Honestly, this kind of reasoning on Lynnette’s part was worse than any kind of actual superstitions I attached to the numbers. She just wanted to bring Abby home and she didn’t care if she had to debase herself with voodoo magic she didn’t even believe in to do it.
Abby was fed a dinner of steak, peas, and kibble tonight. Lynnette generally frowns upon giving Abby human food, but she makes exceptions for special days (Lynnette is the Holiday Monger, remember?) After her meal, Avery gifted Avery more peas by making them rain onto the carpet from her high chair. Once again, the twins are the best things that have ever happened to Abby’s tummy. She’s gotten a little tubby. We can feel it when we lift her. It might be true that Abby gets along with Cole better, but Abby benefits from the fact that Avery loves watching her eat.
We sang “Happy Birthday” to Abby before allowing her a far too decadent dessert. The benevolent Holiday Monger stopped by the grocery store on the way home from work to pick up the celebrant’s treats. I didn’t get Abby any treats, but she gets to sleep in my bed and I don’t so I’m going to go ahead and say that we’re square.
I think I’ll start look into getting her a new dress, though. She’s got just a few articles of clothing and only two are suitable for parties and the like. I didn’t want to be that guy who dressed his dog up in her Dallas Cowboys cheer outfit on her birthday. I have some sense.
Happy 7th/49th birthday, Abby! You don’t sound a day over 4/28!