In Dog Years

This morning, I was up before the crack of dawn with Farmboy, who's alarm rings at 4 a.m.  While drinking my first cup of coffee, I read the night's e-mails.  My wonderful vet's office, Central Kentucky Veterinary Center, had sent an e-mail wishing someone a Happy Birthday.

As soon as it got light out, I bundled up and went out to get some pictures of the birthday girl who's usually the last one to rise and shine.  The girls were just making their way out of the barn and the birthday girl was not being very cooperative.  My fingers were quickly becoming numb (the "feels like" temperature happened to be - 0°), while she refused to pose for me.  Notice the grumpy look on her face?

Faith:  Mom!  Get that camera out of my face. Can't you see I haven't even had time to get the night's accumulation of straw off of me?

Some shaking and arching of the back to wake wake up...

And then... 

Me:

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, dear Faith,
Happy birthday to you.

Do you know how old you are Faith?  You're 7.

Faith:  How old did you say I was?

Me:  You're 7, Faith...according to the Dog Years Calculator, that means your 41.

Faith:  NO WAY!