Saturday, November 26, 2011


As you've probably gathered from the last couple posts, we have been house sitting for our friend Pam this Thanksgiving weekend. It's a little weird trying to make Thanksgiving dinner in someone else's kitchen, and I missed being able to use my china to eat it on, but I'm glad Pam could travel, and she has cute dogs. Besides, Pam watches our dogs every time we go somewhere, so I'm sure we owe her a lot more than this.

One of the puppies, Riley, isn't really a puppy. He's pretty much an old man, actually. My Benni isn't a puppy any more, and Riley is ten years older than Benni:

He's starting to slow down and look a little feeble at times. I commented on that at the dinner table yesterday, and the ensuing conversation went something like this:

Me: Riley, old man, you've slowed down an awful lot in the last three years.
Jonny: Yep. You're slowing down old man. But that's like, what, twenty years in dog years since you met him?
Me: Yeah. It's kinda funny, because when I first met him, you would never have known how old he was - he still acted a lot like a puppy, even though he was eleven.
Jonny: (choking) He was eleven when you met him?! You mean he's fourteen?!
Me: Yep.
Jonny: No wonder you're not working right, Riley. You should be dead! Fourteen! Holy cow! Here I figured he was like 60-70 when you met him, and 80-90 now. No, he was like 80 when you met him and he's going on 150 now.

Apparently Jonny's never had a dog live to fourteen. Apparently dog years change in value as they get older, too. I did, however, make a point of instructing Riley not to die while we're here. "I want to get that call from your mommy," I said. "I don't want to have to make that call to your mommy." So far, he's been ok with this plan.


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