Hunter does not know it is his birthday.
I tell him, because that is what humans do—
mark the days, count the years,
wrap time in ribbons and say this one matters more.
Hunter listens, ears up, tail wagging,
not for the words, but for the walk,
for the cold air and the ground beneath his paws.
He does not ask for toys, or cake, or candles.
He only asks to be here, now, moving forward.
We walk before the weather changes our mind,
before the sky decides between sun and storm.
His steps are light, his tail sways like a banner.
I think, maybe, he understands after all.
Life is short. Shorter than we planned.
It slips through fingers, too big to hold,
too wild to tame, too precious to sell.
If it came in bottles, it would be locked behind glass,
marked with a price only the rich could pay.
Today is special—
not because of a number, not because of a year,
but because we are here, together,
walking the same path,
one step, one tail wag, one heartbeat at a time.
And to Hunter’s brothers and sisters,
out in the world with their own humans,
may today be special for you, too.
May you run, may you play,
may you be loved a little more today than yesterday.
Happy birthday to all the good dogs,
and to the humans lucky enough to love them.
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