Scrabble-Our-Dog's Golden Birthday

I was well past twenty-seven years old when I heard about the Golden Birthday—the idea that one’s most special birthday is the birthday on which your numerical age matches that day of the month.

Mark and I didn’t have time for pets when we tied the knot almost twenty-five years ago. He was a busy airline pilot. I was a busy business owner. Ten years later, we retired, and the subject of a puppy came up.

Scrabble was born April 14, 2010, on a farm in eastern Iowa, a stone’s throw from the Mississippi River.

We selected our miniature golden doodle from her litter mates when she was just a few weeks old, using puppy-picking tests I found on the Internet. One of them was holding her down on her back on the grass with a gentle hand on her belly to see how quickly she forgave when released. Puppy #6 forgave immediately.

Mark and I play Scrabble every day, so we had a name in mind for our puppy before we even met her. We call this photo “Scrabble Wins with Zoa.”

Scrabble completed Basic Obedience (twice), Intermediate Obedience (once), but has never been 100% obedient. No matter how hard we try (spray bottle, sharp command), nothing gets in the way of our dog’s Big Greeting—barking joyfully, jumping up—when any human enters our home.

If there were a certificate for friendliness, Scrabble would have it. She’s never met a human she didn’t like.

In addition to people, Scrabble loves going outside (winter, spring, summer, fall) to put her nose in the air and get her bearings.

We call this one “Scrabble in Antartica,” but she’s actually standing on the frozen shore of Lake Michigan. We have a cottage on Washington Island, acquired after I taught quilting for more than twenty years at Sievers Fiber Arts.

She loves car rides.

She does not care for water.

Snapped one summer on the day friends taught her to swim in their backyard pool.

A few years ago I worried that the chip installed when she was a puppy might no longer work, so I made her an ID card.

Scrabble’s address changed a few years ago, but (note to self) I have not yet updated her Iowa identification card.

At fifteen, Scrabble’s hearing is poor, her eyesight weak, but she still looks like a puppy and acts like one too. We were watching TV one night recently, my legs stretched out on the ottoman. Like a gazelle, from a standstill, Scrabble leapt over my feet, legs, and lap to take her place between us on the sofa.

Scrabble’s shiny black nose is connected to a dog-keen sense of smell. She recently discovered a burrow of baby rabbits in a neighbor’s yard, picked up one (gently) in her teeth, dropping it when I offered her cheese instead. (We returned the bunny to its burrow and erected a Scrabble-proof barrier.)

Happy Golden Birthday, Scrabble! You are fourteen years old today!

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