Good dogs get birthday cakes.
My birthday is next week. It is my second birthday, which humans insist is a very big deal. They say the first year is about survival and the second year is about transformation. I agree, mostly because the evidence is everywhere. Especially in the cords.
We need to talk about the cords.
When I first arrived, the world was full of mysterious snakes that did not move but absolutely needed to be investigated. Computer cords. Air filter cords. Phone chargers. Shoelaces. So many textures. So many opportunities. Humans did not explain fast enough that these were not toys. That is not my fault. That is a communication issue.
I explored thoroughly.
The worst offense, according to the humans, involved studio headphones. Very important headphones. The kind used for serious work. Broadcasting work. The kind that apparently cannot be replaced casually without deep sighing and quiet staring into the distance. I did not know this at the time. I only knew they smelled like attention and sounded crunchy.
I regret nothing. But I understand now.
This is why my second birthday matters so much to the humans.
Year one was learning boundaries. Sometimes by crossing them aggressively.
I chewed cords because I was figuring out the world. Puppies investigate with their mouths. Humans investigate with credit cards and stress. We all have our methods.
Year two is different.
Year two is wisdom. Year two is walking past cords without touching them. Year two is noticing a shoelace and choosing dignity. Year two is seeing studio headphones and remembering the disappointment in human eyes, and deciding to lie down instead.
This is growth.
Humans say my second birthday is important because it marks the moment when chaos turns into companionship. I am no longer a wild, adorable liability. I am a trusted member of the household. Mostly.
I guard the house now. Properly. I no longer confuse extension cords for threats. I focus on delivery trucks and suspicious noises. This is a better use of my energy.
I supervise the kitchen with restraint. I do not grab towels. I do not steal utensils. I sit and observe. Sometimes intensely.
I manage emotional support duties. When humans work with computers, microphones, and headphones that I am no longer allowed to touch, I provide calm. I curl up nearby. I remind them that progress has been made.
The humans say my second birthday matters because it represents trust returning. They can leave the room without unplugging everything. They can charge devices in peace. They can wear shoelaces confidently.
That is not nothing.
This year changed them too. They learned patience. They learned how fast silence can mean trouble. They learned the value of cable management. We grew together.
So yes. I want cake.
Not people cake. People cake is full of regret and bad decisions. I know because I have watched humans eat it.
I want dog cake. The kind made with real ingredients. The kind that says, you survived the cord era. The kind that celebrates maturity, restraint, and personal development.
My second birthday is not just about age. It is about evolution. It is about becoming reliable. It is about choosing naps over destruction. It is about knowing the rules and following them, even when no one is watching.
Especially when no one is watching.
Humans say birthdays are moments to pause and reflect. When they look at me now, they do not see the puppy who tried to eat the studio. They see a dog who learned. A dog who listens. A dog who belongs.
That deserves recognition.
Also cake.
Candles are acceptable. Singing is negotiable. Headphones are safe.
Cake is mandatory.
Good dogs get birthday cakes.
Skye 🐾