Guest blogger: Oliver the dog

Hello, dear readers-- I only have a moment. Hannah doesn't know I'm posting.

Today is my birthday. I'm three today, which-- as Marc pointed out last night at dinner-- is roughly 30 in dog years. This creeped Hannah out because she doesn't like to think of me as her age, so we stopped talking about it.

When I was small, birthdays were easy. Throw me a bone, give me a toy, I was happy.



That's because I didn't know any better.

Readers, something has come to my attention and I need your help.

Please help me eat one of the chickens in our basement for my birthday.

I'm not asking for all four. I don't even need two. I just need to eat one chicken. I 'visit' them every day to feed them with Marc or when Hannah does the laundry, but thus far I have been unsuccessful in my attempts to sneak into the basement unnoticed. Even if I were to get down there alone, the chickens are high up and I cannot reach.

Please. Someone. Find a way into our house and help me with this task. I'll totally split the chicken with you if you're into it.

Otherwise, I'll be subjected to this for another four to six weeks:



Unacceptable.

Yours very sincerely,
Ollie