Birthday girl

Queeni is seven today. Like the Queen of England, she has two birthdays -- the actual one which nobody knows when it is, and the official one. Because Queeni was adopted, I never knew her actual birthday. She had papers, but C didn't manage to get them from the guy who gave her up. So her birthday became the day I took her home from C's house. Anyway, the day of your homecoming makes a nice birthday.

I still remember that day. M had gone with me as driver. C was already back in Tokyo, so only R was at home. We rang the doorbell. Nothing. No barking, no stirring. M called R on his mobile. He had overslept, and struggled to the door minutes later. There was still silence when he opened the door, you would not have guessed that there was a dog in the house. Two dogs, actually, he was babysitting Daiya the MinPin, who has since returned to Japan with her people. I wonder if Queeni still remembers her playmate.

When we took Queeni home, she was the quietest dog I've ever come across. I even wondered if she could bark. It took her a while to find her voice, and now, she rules the roost. No doorbell, no footstep outside the door goes unchallenged.

Queeni is the first dog that I'm seeing grow from puppyhood into middle age. Schwarz was already a senior when he moved in. Spock did not live beyond four.

One dog year being seven human years, Queeni has in one birthday leapt from my age to L's, now joining him at the late-40s. With middle age, her behaviour has changed. She is grumpier and growls more, even at us when we shift her when she's taking up too much space on our bed, well, what she thinks is her bed. A far cry from that quiet, eager to please little dark puppy (she was more black then than salt-and-pepper). It surfaces only when she is corrected, and then she needs reaffirmation that she is still loved.

Typical royal.

Long live the Queen.