And so Boscoe begins his sixteenth year with dignity, and bacon

Boscoe began his Birthday Weekend by rocketing down the stairs under his own power on Saturday morning and then going into a huffing play bow in the front hallway, trying to tempt Riley. A good start, we thought.

Before the searing heat set in, we all went on a leisurely stroll around the lake, two miles, maybe a little farther. Egrets and herons stood long-legged in the water, which was low and muckety with midsummer milfoil. This was a pretty good walk for a dog of 14 years and 364 days, and he earned himself a day of leisure on Sunday.

Good thing, too. Sunday, the Fourth--his 15th birthday--was scorching hot and intensely muggy, and none of us moved very far from the open windows and the whirring fans. We kept a rattling box fan trained on Boscoe, who lay on the porch couch and happily watched the parade of people go by--it was the Hmong soccer game weekend, and the neighborhood was busy. When dogs walked by, he barked, and because it was his birthday, we let him. As noisy as you like, Boscoe! Because it's only once a year.

We had pancakes for breakfast, and he got a shard with butter, but no syrup (sugar and diabetes, you know, are not a good combination), and later in the day Doug's mother came over for a light summer lunch of BLTs, and what can you do but give a birthday boy a little piece of bacon, or two. Or three.


We tried, in the evening, to get him to pose for a photograph, curled up on the front stoop by a tennis ball and a potted geranium--we hoped to recreate a puppy picture we took his first weekend with us. You know, a "then and now" kind of thing. But he would have none of it, giving us a haughty look that clearly said he was too dignified for such shenanigans.

We bribed him with snacks, which he accepted, but he stubbornly refused to pose, and eventually we gave up and let him stalk past us into the house.

He forgave us immediately, and cuddled while we watched a movie, and we rejoiced in his deafness because when the firecrackers went off after dark, Riley disappeared into the basement but Boscoe lay at my side, sweetly oblivious to the din.

And now it is the beginning of his sixteenth year to heaven, and we celebrate by taking him to the vet for an all-day glucose curve test. It was a great weekend, a great birthday, but parties eventually end and the serious business of life must continue.

Meanwhile, I think I can declare victory over the fruit flies. I've seen not a one of them today. But there is no rest for the weary. Next up: a battle against the chipmunks, who are digging tunnels through my shade garden in the front yard. The hole between the tree and my columbines (eaten to nothing by rabbits) is big enough to accommodate my fist, and goes all the way to Middle Earth.