Depending on whether you count a dog’s age by the Roman calendar or by the
Relative-Life-Expectancy-of-a-Canine calendar, Yoki is either one or seven
today. Either way, we’re having a good time of it with extra scratches
behind the ears (Y. gets some of these, too) and more free time than usual for
frolicking around the house. For dinner, homemade chicken cordon bleu pizza w/
green olives added, like we used to get at
Minsky’s.

Of course, for more than one or two reasons, 2007 has been a lousy year for
poor Y. so far. His comic, if he had one, would be called Y. The Last
Dog (not because he’s like
Vertigo’s
Yorick
but rather because he may very well be the last dog). I’ve mentioned
before that when the temps dip
below freezing (um, most every day in CNY), his beagly senses go all to hell. Plus, the
throw-up
problem was only recently corrected (we, uh, think so, anyway). The Syracuse
winter, let’s just say, is especially hard for a puppy. But then, just
look at how cute he is (I tried to get him to tuck away those wild teeth, but he
insisted on shocking the camera with a grin). Good dog, Yoki.