. . . It’s hard to believe, but my first born turned 11 today. I still remember the day I brought him home – his Daddy had just “gotten” a muskrat moments before I arrived in St. Michael’s to pick him up. Sadly, moving to the big city meant no muskrat chasing for him, but he has spent many an afternoon plotting how to take down his arch rival, the squirrel. or rabbit. or small squeaky toy. This little guy loves to chase a ball (or anything you might throw for that matter) and while his face is turning VERY gray, and he is not quite as spry as he once was, his spirit is still as much of a puppy as the day that he became part of my family. Long before Caroline, and well before I even met John for that matter, Buster has been a companion, watchdog, pain in the butt at times, but most of all a little buddy to me. I think there are times when the little girl in the family drives him nuts, but that being said, he’s never too far away from her. He naps a lot more than he used to (usually on a piece of furniture he’s not allowed on), but he’s more than ready when John picks up a tennis ball, or he hears the word “walk.” We are so lucky to have him and his antics still keep us laughing, 11 years later.

Happy Birthday Buster!

hc

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