It is my misfortune to live with a human who is in general totally useless at birthday celebrations.
So yesterday I reached the grand age of eight years old and all I got was a rawhide bone, pigs ears and Dentastix (like a toothcare product counts as a present?) plus a quiet domestic night in Nottingham with Gail, her lovely friend Janet and Janet's lovely young friend Helen.
In fairness, Gail was tired after all the running around after Human Granny, Helen was tired 'cos she's at that stressful stage of writing up her Physics PhD thesis, Janet was tired after her recent influx of visitors, and I was a bit below par 'cos my paw problem has flared up again.
Well I must say I found Janet's piano playing most beautifully mellifluous and soothing. And now I understand why Gail is so modest about her own lack of talent in this area.
And then there were wonderful smells emanating from the kitchen where Helen was relaxing by cooking a delicious (although from my perspective disappointingly vegetarian) sweet potato chilli supper for the humans.
The highlight of the evening came just before bedtime, when Janet introduced me to a blissfully yummy new treat - sliced pear.
All in all not such a bad way to celebrate one's birthday, I suppose.
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