I'm 15 Today… But Did Everyone Forget My Birthday?

Today is his birthday. Fifteen years old.

I wish I could say we woke up to balloons and confetti, to a house filled with laughter and celebration. But we didn’t.

Instead, I opened my eyes to the sound of soft breathing at the foot of my bed. There he was, curled up like always. My dog. My best friend. My shadow.

And just like that, the realization hit me.

He’s fifteen today.

Fifteen years. That’s a lifetime for most dogs. And in those years, he’s seen me at my worst and at my best. He’s been there through the breakups, the late-night tears, the lazy Sunday mornings, the new apartments, the loud parties, and the quiet, aching loneliness that sometimes came after.

But this morning? There was no party hat on his head. No birthday bone waiting in the kitchen. No reminder on anyone’s phone. Not even mine.

I almost forgot. And it crushed me.

He didn’t, though.

Of course, he didn’t know it was his birthday. But when he saw me open my eyes, he wagged his tail — slow, but steady. He stretched, groaned a little (his hips aren’t what they used to be), and made his way to me like he has every morning for the last fifteen years.

And somehow, despite everything, he still made me feel like I was the most important person in the world.

I sat up, put my arms around him, and whispered, "Happy birthday, old man."

He didn’t understand the words, but he understood the love. He always has.

Fifteen years ago, I brought home this tiny, wiggly ball of fur who peed on the rug within the first ten minutes. I had no idea how much he would change my life.

Back then, I was younger — more selfish, more distracted. But he was patient. He waited for me to grow up. He watched me fumble through my twenties, through heartbreaks, through career changes, through finding and losing myself more times than I can count.

He never judged. Never walked away. Never needed a reason to love me. I didn’t have to earn it. I just had to show up.

And now… he’s fifteen.

His walks are shorter.

His naps are longer.

He doesn’t chase squirrels anymore, but he still watches them with that same flicker in his eyes — that tiny spark that says, “If only I were five years younger…”

His hearing isn’t great. I call his name and sometimes he doesn’t turn. I used to worry — now I just walk over and touch him gently, and he looks up with surprise and joy, like I’ve returned from a long journey, even if I’ve only been in the next room.

Today, I took the day off. No meetings. No emails. No errands.

Just him and me.

We went to his favorite park — the one with the ducks and the little wooden bridge. I let him sniff every tree, every blade of grass. He walked slowly, but with purpose. Like he was revisiting memories.

People passed us by. Some smiled. Some didn’t notice. But one woman stopped and asked, “How old is he?”

“Fifteen,” I said.

She paused, then softly replied, “That’s a good, long life.”

Yes. It is. And it’s not over yet.

When we got home, I cooked him a small birthday dinner — chicken, sweet potato, and a tiny bit of peanut butter. No candles, but his eyes lit up anyway. He licked the plate clean and wagged his tail like a puppy again, just for a moment.

We curled up on the couch, him snoring softly beside me. I watched his chest rise and fall, steady and warm. And I thought about how one day, this moment will become a memory.

But not today.

Today, he’s still here.

Still my friend.

Still my family.

I don't know how much longer we have together. Maybe a year. Maybe less. But I do know this:

He has given me fifteen of the most loyal, loving years I could ever ask for.

And I’ll spend every day I have left making sure he knows how much that means.

Because even if the world forgets his birthday…

I won’t.

Not today.

Not ever.

Happy birthday, my sweet old boy.

You are loved beyond words.