On October 19th, my darlin' Doris Daylily will turn 2. I've never celebrated a dog's birthday before, and we probably won't go to any great lengths this year. Probably. Maybe. We might not go to great lengths. It's hard to say, because I've never had a dog to which I felt such a strong bond before. Sure, she doesn't know it's her birthday, but she does know who her pack is. Doris is very attuned to our state of well-being. So she might know we're happy she was born if I give her some extra tennis-ball-chasing time that day.

It's the least I could do for her. She's brought so much happiness to us in these two years, y'know.

So while I reflect on the less-than-two-years that I've been owned by Doris Daylily, what really strikes me is not how much she's grown, but how much I've changed thanks to my dog.

I walk more now than ever before. Well, more than I've walked since I was a teenager. Just today the noon news told me that Americans walk less than Europeans, and I thought, "Not me." Doris is a highly active herding dog, and she loves to walk. We walk and walk and walk. Sometimes my son runs with her. We walk up hills and down, to creeks and back, and sometimes we hop in the car and walk on a hiking trail in the mountains. I enjoy the outdoors so much more when I've got Doris around to spur me onward.

I care deeply about poo. Yes, I said I care. Deeply. About poo. I wouldn't say my life revolves around whether or not Doris has taken care of her business, but I spend a great deal more time wondering about it. I can't go to sleep if Doris has not, ahem, pooped at the 11:00 walk. I have to stay awake and take her out again at midnight. And again at 1:00. Fortunately, this is not an everyday occurrence.

I like other people's dogs more. I notice them more. Before I had Doris, I lived for 11 years without a dog, and the only dogs I noticed were Welsh corgis. Now I notice all the dogs, and I have to stop and tell them hello, they're good dogs, aren't they good dogs? Yes, they are! What good dogs! Good dog! I am particularly fond of dogs on vacation. (I haven't actually been on a vacation since September of last year, but seriously -- Dogs On Vacation = especially good Good Dogs.)

My car is full of dog fur, and I don't mind. My car's passenger side window is covered with dog nose prints -- the bottom four inches, that is -- and I don't mind. I love, love, love when I pick up my purse, and Doris goes to the door and waits for me to take her for a car ride. When did riding in the car become such a joy? It's such a happy thing!

Tummies must be rubbed. They must. How anyone can resist a dog on her back, begging for a tummy rub, I will never know. In fact --

I judge people harshly if they decline to rub my dog's tum-tum.

And this year, since we couldn't take a proper vacation, we spent much of the summer going from river to river here in glorious East Tennessee, and Doris came with us. She actually swam in the Ocoee River one weekday when the river was low. Doris was less enthused about the cooler mountain rivers in Townsend and Tellico Plains. But she always had a good time at picnic spots, trying to find dropped hot dogs from other, more careless picnickers, and chasing lavender little moths and butterflies from one wildflower to another. I just wish I had gotten better pictures of her on her watery adventures!

I can't imagine going anywhere without my dog.

So I've learned a lot in the last couple of years. Who knows what the next year will bring? I can't wait to find out --

And I'd better be ready to give Doris a fresh, new tennis ball in a couple of days. She does love to run after a ball. Who am I to deny her?