Little Glinita Bonita Popita has turned one.

Since this blog has become All Glin, All The Time, it should surprise no one that Sunday - her actual birthday - began a week of festivities celebrating her. There will be pig ears and playthings, extra walks and new collars. There will be a dollops of peanut butter in her breakfast and ice cream treats of the canine variety. Of course, no birthday celebration would be complete without a party for her and her doggie friends.She's asked for a keg of PBR. I'm not a cool mom, so she's getting water. My friends Jenni and Lisette, also known as her "other two mommies," bought her a toy, and not just any toy but The Best Toy In The World, a duplicate of the rubber, bouncing ball that she always steals out of their house from her best friend, Frankie.

She now sleeps with this ball tucked under her chin.

This is what happens to pet people when they get their Very First Pet. The animal that isn't a collective pet shared with brothers and sisters, but a pet of their very own. I grew up with dogs and cats, and loved them all to pieces, but with Glin it's different. We're a team, she and I, and I couldn't imagine my life without her in it. I've lost shoes and sleep, books and other belongings - if I bother to tally up the cost of owning her in my head, I imagine the figure would cause me cramps. That mattress alone set me back $300. The apartment is littered with dog hair, and no matter what I do, a day or two later it looks as though a giant, blonde ball of fur exploded. I can't go out for drinks right after work anymore, and late nights away from home are out of the question as Glin needs tending to. I have to keep the air conditioner running all day, and once that bill comes from Com Ed, I shudder to think what it will reveal.

But I wouldn't have things any other way.

A girlfriend of mine from the office is fond of telling people that if reincarnation were true, then she wants to come back as "not just any dog, but Erin Shea's dog." I spoil my dog relentlessly and talk about her incessantly, and I never thought I'd be that sort of pet owner but it turns out that's just who I am.

It helps that she's a cool dog, and she's smart, and with the exception of a few mishaps along the way, is a really great dog. And screw ups on her part I lay totally at my own feet. She's learned how to shake on command and when we go on our walks she knows to sit as she gets to any curb. I've taught her how to pick up her toys from the yard, as she has a penchant for bringing them outside with her. The fact that my dog knows the difference between her "doll" "ball" and "bone" makes me pretty happy. It's the little things, people.

Glin is my loyal buddy, each morning waking me up with slobbery doggie kisses and a need to cuddle up in my lap. It still makes my heart flutter when I crawl onto the floor around 7 a.m. to am greeted by all 70-some-odd pounds of her, nuzzling her big foofy head into the crux of my arm, and then come home to her big, bounding body, collecting any number of toys with which to play. I know this isn't the case, but sometimes she gets so excited to see me at the end of the day, it's as though she's been waiting all day for just that moment.

I tell her that it's what I've been waiting for, too, because for me it's always the case. Without fail, it is always the case.

Posted by Erin at 11:01 PM | filed under: Glin

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