Augie Dog turned three years of age the other day. Three human years, so does that make him 21 dog years? Should I give him the key to the door now?
Son and I forgot until about three quarters through the day, and then we both felt guilty that we didn’t have a birthday treat for him. I went through the fridge and found some frankfurter sausages that I was going to use for hotdogs and so presented one of those to Augie. He ran about the room, the frank sticking out of his mouth, like Groucho Marx with a cigar.
Later, I gave him a couple of slices of bacon too. I think it turned out to be a nice birthday for Augie.
I sent Mr FD in hospital a text that Augie was having a birthday frank and Mr FD who adores a sausage in any form (keep it clean) texted back “Happy Birthday, Augie. That was my frankfurter!”
“It was too!” I replied.
“I had crumbs, dried bread and water!”
“Character building!” I replied, using his mother’s reasoning for life’s sufferings.
“What a huge character I must have! texted Mr FD
A few minutes later Mr FD sent more texts:
“The footy franks played for the All Blacks” (New Zealand’s national rugby team). Owen and Glen Franks!”
Where do you go to from that?
Next day, I cut one of the remaining frankfurters into bite size pieces, sprayed some tomato sauce over the top of the pieces and took it along with me on my daily visit to Mr FD.
“I’ve brought you a bit of Augie’s birthday cake” I declared.
Mr FD was just tucking into it when the lunch lady brought his meal tray in. “I am eating some of the dog’s birthday cake!” he shared.
She stood there blinking at him for a moment or two and then left the room. I guess she thought that Mr FD would be one patient who wouldn’t complain about the hospital food if he was happy to eat the dog’s food.