I was born on Valentine’s day in 2009. If my math is correct, I’m nine years old this year. That’s why this valentine has nine Dobby-heads. The Farm Manager made it. Creepy, isn’t it?
The Farm Manager has bunches of photos that all look the same. That’s because I hang out in the kitchen a lot, especially in winter. Here are nine February kitchen pictures, right around my birthday.
The first one is baby me, drinking milk. At first, I could walk right under those shelves. There weren’t even dog gates keeping me in the kitchen. Keep your eyes peeled for that little shopping cart. It shrinks to nothing in later pictures.
A year later, and there is a solid door keeping me out of the living room. Ha ha, look! Wood floors! There’s an x-pen keeping me in the kitchen (and out of the cookbook shelf.) Look at the stool, how little it is! Do you see the shopping cart?
Crazy, I know, but that is still an x-pen keeping me in my kitchen area. I could have busted out of there, but I was still pretending to be a good boy. I love my frog blanket, but it has holes chewed in it now. My birthday is in February, so sometimes snow happens (see it?) I want to be like the Queen of England and choose to celebrate my birthday in May. With a parade.
Well, there was no parade in May, but that summer, linoleum went down and walls went up. We had baby chickens in the kitchen where the guinea pigs used to be. (They moved onto acreage down the hall.) Those were the last of the baby kitchen hens. We only get used hens, now.
See, no chicks. Some genius finally moved that shelf up so I can relax by the heat register. My white rabbit rug still has fur and stuffing in its head, I still had my green milk bowl. The little old rugs died a slow agonizing death and we moved on to bigger ones.
Look at this bed! This was a major improvement to my area, even if it takes up a lot of space. I would be happy if my entire kitchen area was bed. I still have my little stool. That’s where I put my front paws to look out over the wall at washer repairmen and beg for banana chips. My green froggy blanket is still hanging in there. Look at the floor, though. The Farm Manager is glad her wood floors are protected under the linoleum.
I got a new milk bowl. I’m not a baby any more, it’s for Big Boy milk. There are metal signs leaning against the wall back there because Fat Bonnie the rabbit sneaks in here at night and eats the wallpaper off the walls. Around here it’s an on-going competition to see who is the baddest animal.
Rugs don’t last more than four years around here: getting washed every night sorta destroys them. That was year four for the blue ones. There’s a washable cover on the bed, now, and the nightly laundry load includes that little blanket by the heat register, and, of course, my white rabbit rug. Every night.
Look for the little shopping cart in the last photo and in this one! A chewed up plush rat lives in it, now. I won the Baddest Animal competition the day this photo was taken. Hey, it’s February, and it’s cold outside!
I would like to point out that while the 2017 photo is somewhat unsanitary, the current photo has mud covered rugs. That’s mud. I promise you, it’s mud! The Farm Manager tracks it in on her boots. That’s because I am now so spoiled that on cold days, or windy days, or on days when I demand it, she drags herself out to the front yard and cuts me a bucket of bamboo foliage. Up here at the Arctic Circle, where we live, it gets dark halfway through the afternoon. It’s important to have diligent staff.
I know I look the same in most of these photos, but, truth is, in 2012 I was still growing. We have radiographs to prove it. My kitchen area slowly evolves. I have UV lights, now, the stuffing has come out of the heads of the White Rabbit Rugs (there are three!), and Fat Bonnie has launched a new attack on the wallpaper. I’m pushing for an indoor pool and spa. That would be a suitable birthday present.