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Party ’til the dogs come home
(by Tracy Beckerman - May 14, 2008)
We all gathered around the cake and sang: “… Happy birthday dear Samson, happy birthday to you.”
Now, if you’re wondering what kind of parents name their kid Samson, well, there are none that I know of (except maybe in Hollywood). This Samson — the birthday boy in question — is a dog. Yes, we were at a dog birthday party. Actually we (my daughter and I) were just there as chaperones. Our dog was the invited guest.
Samson was celebrating his first birthday, a milestone in any well-heeled, suburban dog’s life, so his family decided to throw him a party. It was quite a soiree. There were dog treats and dog games and dog decorations. There were dog guests in dog clothes bearing dog gifts. It was pretty much all canine, all the time, but children were also welcome. Cats, of course, were not allowed.
Being a gregarious Goldendoodle, Samson had many friends at the party. But there was only one girl dog and the rest were all boys. Normally when you have a party, you try to make sure there is an even number of both. This is so everyone will have a dance partner. Clearly, this is not so much of an issue at a dog party. Even less so when all the guests are neutered.
For a while the dogs ran around and played together, just like kids do, tackling, rolling in the grass, and sniffing each other. Then the party games began. There was some organized fetch, followed by a round of “Find the Chewie,” and finally, a rousing game of “Pin the Tail on the Retriever.”
Soon it was time to open the presents. Samson was overjoyed to receive numerous chew toys, balls, and squeaky things. About 30 seconds later, he abandoned the new toys and played with the wrapping paper instead… sort of like when you buy a kid a large, expensive toy and he spends the rest of the day playing in the box that it came in.
Everybody was having a fine time when suddenly, a fight broke out. Molly, a sassy golden retriever with a lovely red collar, took a toy from Samson. He wasn’t playing with it at the time, but it was his and it was his birthday, so technically she should have given it up when he asked for it. Soon the other dogs joined in and before we knew it, the fur flew and there was a doggie brawl free for all.
“Doggone it,” said the hostess.
“That’s ruff,” I commented.
It looked as though the party was going to come to an abrupt end when out of the melee stepped a large black dog with the prized floppy Frisbee in his mouth. While the other dogs continued to tussle, our dog Riley padded over and dropped the frisbee at my feet.
“Whoa. He gave up the friz,” whispered my daughter. “He never gives up the friz!”
Both of us stared at the offering, and then I called Samson, threw the Frisbee and off he ran. Peace was restored once more.
Eventually the party came to an end just like any kid’s birthday party would:
The guests all got favors, the birthday boy fell asleep, and the mom was left to clean up the mess.
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