Another Day in the Country
The puppies’ birthday party
© Another Day in the Country
I don’t know how many of you have attended a birthday party for a dog, but I was privileged to be invited to a Napa Valley party celebrating the first birthday of five little Cavalier King Charles puppies.
It started when a client of Jana’s bought Margo, the cutest puppy my daughter had ever seen.
Within a week, Jana’s family brought home another member of the same litter — a brown-and-white (Blenheim), picture perfect pup they named Olli.
He took over the household. Within a month, all five puppies in that litter were living in the St. Helena area.
The owners began having “play dates” with the pups. Then someone got the bright idea to have a one-year party for the Cavaliers.
My daughter told my sister about the occasion before my plane hit the tarmac.
“You know Mom will probably roll her eyes when I tell her about this event,” Jana said.
She was right.
The party was at a lovely dog park on the outskirts of St. Helena. The unusualness of the occasion pretty much guaranteed it was happening in California.
I tried to imagine people I know in Kansas having a birthday party for their dog and its littermates.
Nope, couldn’t see that happening in Ramona. Doubted it would be occurring in Abilene. A real stretch for a tentative possibility in Wichita.
Jana had gift bags for all five little dogs. Each featured a plush toy for fetching and a neck bandana for dressing up.
Before we left the house, Olli — her birthday boy — got to choose the toy he preferred. He picked an elephant. It had a good ratio of shakable parts to soft chewy spots.
When we arrived at the dog park, balloons marked the spot along with brightly colored tablecloths and a fake can of dog food as a poochy piñata.
Things were looking festive. It was the Napa Valley, so of course there also was wine — but not for the dogs.
In addition to the five birthday pups, extra guests were invited.
There was a Labradoodle looming over the smaller canines with a bewildered look on his face, trying to figure out what this was all about. He had to be careful where he sat because quite a few smaller dogs were running around.
There was an old, white miniature poodle, whose face looked more like a weasel’s than a dog’s.
Two older Cavalier dogs were in attendance. One, named Rosie, was slightly overweight and stood around, looking disdainfully at the mayhem and frolicking going on. The other sat at her mistress’ feet and looked up at her adoringly.
“Wow, your dog is really well trained,” I said to the owner.
I knew that Jana had just finished Round 1 of Introduction to Civilization for Canines with Olli and still was working on rudimentary commands.
He had mastered “sit” before going out the door, “stay” so long as you didn’t move and the duration was brief, and “down” for 15 seconds. He’s a little serendipity about “go potty,” but who cares as long as your caretakers are trained to take you outside every couple of hours.
The lady I was complimenting laughed.
“All this adoration is a little much,” she said. “This is one of those one-person dogs, and I’m that person. She constantly wants my attention, and I get a little sick of it, frankly.”
During the conversation, the dog sat immobile, looking up adoringly at her owner’s face, wanting to make eye contact.
The breeder of these charming dogs arrived with a proud and patient momma dog and four more pups, just the right age for adopting.
He came equipped with a mini pen, a plush dog couch, treats for all the canine guests, dog food recommendations, training tips, and a credit card processing app on his phone.
Olli, off his leash, did some rough and tumble with his siblings for a bit and then looked around for Jana. He couldn’t find her, but he found the table where she’d put down her purse and the gift bags and whined.
I went over and sat down, and he climbed up on my lap and cuddled down. Second choice was good enough in the midst of all this stranger danger.
He reminded me of my grandson when he was a preschooler going to his own birthday bash.
Dagfinnr could take all the rough and tumble just so long. Then, he’d find me, take my hand, and lead me away from the crowd, saying “Baba, let’s go play somewhere.”
There was a birthday cake shaped like a bone and frosted with peanut butter, but the pups paid no heed. The birthday kids just wanted to sniff, yap, romp, hump around, express dominance, and find something dirty to chew on.
It seemed to me that most of the families who owned these dogs treated them more like adored children than pets.
“Oh, Charlie, here comes Daddy!” one owner cried as her husband entered the dog park.
Charlie was busy smelling another dog and ignored Mommy, but she kept calling and encouraging him to finally run with her toward a man in a blue suit striding across the grass.
Most of the dog owners’ real children were grown and gone. Now they had puppy children who slept in Mommy and Daddy’s bed, seemed quite content to be kissed and cuddled without complaint, learned to make eye contact on command, and never went off to college on another day in the country.