Today, my dog turned two.
Two years old — still young, still playful, still chasing butterflies in the yard like every moment is magic. But today, something in me felt off. Something quiet. Something a little heavy.
Because no one remembered.
No calls. No messages. No “Happy Birthday to your pup!” texts like we got last year when he turned one. Maybe it’s because the first birthday felt like a big deal—balloons, cake, Instagram stories with paw-print emojis. But the second? It just... passed by.
 |
| littel baby |
And I think he noticed.
His name is Milo. He’s the kind of dog who looks you straight in the eyes, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. He understands more than I give him credit for—like when I’m sad and pretending not to be, or when I’m busy and ignoring him but he waits patiently by the door anyway.
This morning, he brought me his favorite toy. The duck with one missing wing.
He dropped it at my feet like a gift and sat back, tail swishing side to side, waiting for something—maybe for me to say, “Happy Birthday, buddy!” like I did last year, or maybe just to see me smile and make a fuss over him.
But I was rushing. Emails. Meetings. Deadlines.
I gave him a quick pat and said, “Not now, Milo.”
And that was it.
No treats. No walk. No celebration. Just another day.
Around noon, I remembered. The guilt hit me slowly, like a knot tightening in my chest. I looked over, and there he was—lying in the same spot he always does, eyes open, watching the door. Waiting.
I whispered, “Happy birthday, Milo.”
He didn’t jump up. He didn’t bark with joy. He just blinked slowly, as if to say, I was waiting for you to notice.
That moment broke me.
Because here’s the truth: dogs don’t care about balloons or fancy cakes. They don’t need wrapped presents or birthday banners. They just want us. Our attention. Our love. Our time.
And today, I almost forgot to give him that.
So I turned off my laptop. I went to the kitchen and made him something simple—plain chicken, a bit of rice, and a spoonful of peanut butter. I didn’t have candles, so I lit a tea light and set it on the table beside us.
I sat on the floor and called him over. “Come on, birthday boy.”
He came slowly, not sure what was happening, but when I smiled, he wagged his tail again—this time a little faster. I gave him his special meal, sang a ridiculous little birthday song, and told him I loved him at least twenty times.
And just like that, everything felt right again.
We ended the evening on the couch. He fell asleep with his head in my lap, breathing soft and even. And I sat there, heart full, realizing how close I came to letting a precious moment slip away.
Two years may not sound like much. But to a dog, it’s everything. Every day matters. Every walk, every cuddle, every birthday. They live in the now—and we owe it to them to show up for it.
So no, no one else wished him a happy birthday today.
But I did.
Eventually.
And tomorrow, and every day after, I’ll do better.
Because Milo turned two today—and he deserves to be celebrated, not just on birthdays, but always.