At the end of September, my baby brother Ben finally turned 1 year old. Amen.
Or as I previously bemoaned, all the baby enthusiasts insist we must refer to as 12 months. Anyway this was a huge accomplishment for everyone involved, but particularly for me since there were many times over the past year when I feared we would not survive this golden Age of Infancy in one piece. And by “we”, I mostly mean me. But I did occasionally worry about the baby too.
As anyone who has ever met a human baby can tell you, baby survival instincts are essentially nonexistent. Based on my astute observations, it seems like this baby was trying to end up in the emergency room. Constantly trying to fall or choke or suffocate or injure himself in the most catastrophic way imaginable. Not to mention, he was really playing with fire by constantly invading my personal space.
Case in point: in my bed.
Case in point: in my chair (which if I may point out clearly states my name)
And again… back in my bed. Basically pretending I’m invisible.
And let me tell you friends, when a 20+ pound ball of dough with the balance of a drunken sailor comes barreling towards you with those vice gripping hands open wide aiming for your sweet, fragile face, it gets old pretty fast. It’s a good thing I have a lot of patience, or maybe I’m just playing the long game and secretly plotting his demise? Hard to say, only time will tell.
Did I mention the aggressive petting?
Anyway, to reward my brother for surviving his own insanity and self-afflicting antics (and terrorizing me for 12 long months) my parents decided to throw Baby Ben a huge party. (Can you see my eyes rolling?) To any rational puppy or anyone who understands the basic concept of positive and negative reinforcement, this makes absolutely no sense, but apparently it’s very popular among humans. Although I may not agree with the idea, I will reluctantly admit I enjoyed the party. Getting to hang out at the park soaking up the sunshine with some of my favorite humans, getting loved on by my newest best friend Sophie, and eating enough St. Louis barbecue to satisfy a small army of pups was pretty nice. Not to mention, the birthday boy was preoccupied with his own festivities, which meant a few hours of peace and quiet for yours truly without having to worry about taking a right hook to the face.
And since the “big birthday” I’ve spent some time reflecting on the past 365 days and although I still have a fair amount of PTSD, I admit there were a few highlights. I would like to share some of my favorites with you all. But first, you better believe I made sure I was not agreeing to any more monthly photo shoots. Those photo sessions were becoming downright dangerous for me, I had to put my paws down.
But before I retire the board for good… Mom agreed to one last redeeming Birthday Board session with just yours truly to prove I can take a quality photo as long as Ben isn’t around. This session, if I do say so myself, is the most professional session to date by a LARGE margin.
#109MONTHS 9 years x 12 months = 108 months, plus 1 month because mom was late taking these photos. Plus a few additional months now, because mom took fashionably late to a whole new level by delaying this post despite frequent prompting from me. But I think you still get my point - counting in months is absolutely ridiculous. I may start a campaign to end this pointless charade all together. Who’s with me??
I think my likes and dislikes are pretty clear here, but if you have any follow up questions feel free to reach out to me from the safe distance of Instagram @realbacontheboston and I will be happy to clarify. And unlike my Baby Brother, my favorite things don’t change on a whim every 30 days because I’m decisive. I’m a pup who knows what he likes (and what he doesn’t like, and let’s be honest, that list is much much longer).
I’d also like to note for the record that my birthday was actually back in July but was somehow… ahem… overlooked. So of course I demanded twice the compensation for these photos, which I begrudgingly accepted in the form of sizzling hot, salty bacon. The real stuff. (Pro tip – you have to really sell the anger and resentment to get the REAL bacon, not those every day dog treats. Don’t let your parents hold out on you.)
Just holding this stare until Mom realizes this is THE LAST birthday board session I will every do. Ever. The End. And gives me bacon.
Well now that my reputation has been restored without the force of nature, a.k.a. my brother, totally ruining these photos, I’ll move onto a few of my favorite moments from the past year. Even I, salty Bacon, can find the silver lining.
1. The Honeymoon Period - Oh those first few months. At the time, I admit I was not a fan. I was still in shock by the whole noisy baby who never sleeps (which means Bacon dog never naps) situation, but looking back this was definitely the calm before the storm. Ben was basically immobile which meant I could still roam about freely without fear of crossing paths with him. Oh and the amazing swaddle ensured he couldn’t even accidentally touch me with one of his flailing limbs. In hindsight, this was the honeymoon period. But then suddenly, he started rolling over and it came to an end. And it’s been downhill at record speed ever since.
Any chance we can bring the swaddle back?
2. The Stunt Double - In full disclosure, Fake Bacon was not my idea. He was a gift from some of my favorite cousins for the baby. And at first, I thought, this giant stuffed animal is no where near as handsome as yours truly. But he was quiet and stayed out of my way, so I warmed up to him. Then one day I had the most amazing idea. Month by month the sibling photo shoots started to get more out of control, with arms and legs flying left and right, typically at my face. And suddenly I realized, you know what I need? A stunt double. All the big Hollywood actors have stunt doubles. I mean, there’s no way those prima donnas are putting themselves in harm’s way? So why I should I?
There’s no doubt Fake Bacon saved me from several traumatic injuries.
3. My “Research” - You’ve all heard of Pavlov’s dog. Well have you heard of Bacon’s Baby? Maybe not yet, but give me some time and college professors around the country will be teaching every bored freshman about me in Psychology 101. Classic experiments with an interesting twist. I don’t want to get lost in the details with this one, since all my ideas are proprietary and could be worth a fortune someday. But let ‘s just say this baby has been an excellent case study. Come on, the kid was drooling before I even rang any bells.
This baby is a wealth of strange information. And in case you’re wondering what makes me qualified to be studying human behavior, feel free to read my blog on How to Train a Human. Or just check out the next photo. I think it’s safe to say my training plan is working, I’m not wanting for any treats these days.
And let’s get serious, my parents didn’t train this baby.
That’s right baby, give Bacon dog all your snacks. And your breakfast. And your lunch. And your dinner.
Well I think that about sums up all the highlights. To be honest, this past year with my new baby brother has been a year full of patience, compromise, and understanding on my part - all of which are excellent qualities if you’re into that sort of thing, they’re just not qualities I personally care to be doing. But as long as there is salty bacon waiting for me, I’ll give it my best shot. Besides, I don’t hate having someone else around who loves to stare out the window for hours. Especially someone who finally pays attention to my barking.
And for the record, one of my brother’s first words was “Ba, Ba”, for yours truly. Quickly followed by my signature, “woof, woof”.
- Until next time furiends,
Bacon