Happy birthday, Gunther!

Today is Gunther’s unofficial birthday.  Yesterday three of us walked on Norm’s Island with G. when we met a woman who recognized him from Facebook.  “I know that dog,” she gushed.  I wanted to hear more about how much she loved him, but my companions, including Gunther, were walking on ahead.  I straggled behind.

“He will be five tomorrow,” I said, over my shoulder.

We aren’t sure of Gunther’s birthday because he’s a rescue dog whom we adopted when he was a couple months old.  I had never heard of his breed, “Brussels Griffon.”  At first I got it wrong.  “Belgian griffin, or maybe pug,” I told the writing group I paid to attend.

“I love Pugs,” announced Russell Rowland.  Then, when I showed him a photo, he informed me Gunther wasn’t even close to being a pug.

Took me a week or two to learn about Brussels Griffons, and Gunther fit the description, except he’s roughly twice the size (28 lbs vs 10-15 lb) of the classic Wikipedia description.

Gunther, like typical Brussels Griffons, is comically self-important, has bug-eyes, and wants to attack huge ferocious dogs.  This last trait is the reason for some scars on his butt and a $300 vet bill.  I had to give him pain medicine and an antibiotic for a week.

He’s a better dog now than when he was as a puppy.  He used to poop in the house and chew the furniture.  He even chewed my glasses.  My new glasses that cost, like $400.  They probably tasted salty.  I have them still.  The damage to the lenses is near the edges, so I could still wear them, damaged bows and all.  

We selected April 3 arbitrarily because P.’s father’s birthday was on that day in 1899.