Happy B-day, little sis

Eight (human) years ago, my little sister, Lexie, came into this world. She had a much more privileged start in life than I did. She was born in a nice house on Lake Norman. I was born in the backwoods of Catawba County, in a blue plastic swimming pool in a single-wide trailer. Like me, though, Lexie was the last of her litter to find a home. She was first tagged to be some hunter’s dog, but when he actually went to pick her up he chose her sister, instead. I remember the first night Lexie spent at our house. Cheryl was afraid she was too little and I was too big to leave Lexie in my room, so she got to sleep on newspapers in the bathroom. Every time she moved, though, Cheryl woke up, so that only lasted one night. The next nights, until she put on some puppy pounds, Lexie slept in a crate in my room. I was always too scared to go in it, so she would swat and nip and torture me in general and then when she wanted a refuge or a nap, she’d seek shelter in her crate. It seems like it was only yesterday, but in reality, it’s been 56 dog years. Though she eats my food, hides my balls and refuses to get along with Duchess, I can’t imagine life without her. Happy birthday, Lexie.