Yesterday morning our barn door opened and the woman said "Sheaffer, this is your special day!" Of course I assumed the worst -more stabbing by Dr. Maggie or possibly more wormer being unceremoniously stuffed down my throat. Turned out it was my 13th birthday. As TJ so charmingly put it, I'm now officially as old as dirt. Then as a birthday present, he gave me rather a bad bite on my face. Fortunately I landed a kick that sent him half way across the paddock. All very festive, I don't think.
Later in the day the woman came to lead me over to the house where I was presented with something called a birthday cake. It was an interesting collection of foodstuffs on a plate but some idiot had set three wax sticks in there and lit them on fire. I snapped my ears to attention and backed across the lawn at record speed. They quickly blew out the three fires but I wouldn't touch a thing until they handed the items to me individually. The male human tried to convince me it was the same as the fire pit that I roll in, only in miniature, but I was having none of it. I don't like my snacks to smell of fire and brimstone and to taste of wax.
All in all I find un-birthdays easier on my nerves.