Happy Birthday Bucky!

My pug baby, my alter ego, our forever child, Bucky, turned thirteen the day after election. We usually call our children by their given nicknames, different from time to time, so lately the pug has been addressed as Bucky Obama or Brrrarck O'Bucky.

Every night when we sit down to watch TV, he comes and whines until one of us reach down to give him a nice back scratch. When he decides he’s done, he just turns and leaves, not even a thank you over the shoulder.

Since he had some disc problem in his neck couple of years ago his motions haven’t been the same, so we carry him up and down the stairs. But if you tell him you need to carry him, he turns and runs with all his might. Chase me chase me! He turns amazingly quick considering the old bones and fat belly. The chase is extra nice late at night when the hoomans are tired, or if Dad has his hands full and running late for work. Bucky woofs and gives him a lecture.

To celebrate adding another teenager in the house, I got a little cheesecake to share for the two dogs and three humans. (The cheesecake came from Buttery in Santa Cruz, for you locals.)

The humans got chocolate ice cream in honor of the president-elect.

It's been a long and difficult road, you might call it a Rocky Road, but we call it Barocky Road.

I also had plan to order dinner from a restaurant operated by a gay couple in the event of California Prop 8 being defeated, unfortunately we’ll have to hold that off for now.