I have a birthday coming up, you know.” Scooter was watching me check the calendar.

“I do know. August 24th.” I said.

“Right. And how old will I be?” he asked.

“You will be three.”

“You do mean three passages of twelve solar months?”

“Huh?”

 

“By your calendar years you think of me as a three-year-old, right? Like when you found that package of green beans in the freezer, and you said, ‘These beans must be at least three years old.’ Am I right?”

“Well . . .”

“When, in fact, my body and brain mature and age differently than either your green beans or you, yourself. We’ve got solar years, lunar years, and dog years.”

“I know that.”

 

“Still, you are right,” he concluded. “I will be three years old in a matter of days. I’m older even faster if you count by lunar months.

“Huh?”

“Knock off eleven days from each year. You humans know that, yes?

“We do.”

 

“But do you know when the moon’s New Year is?” Scooter Sublime is relentless.

“The moon has a new year?”

 

“February.”

He wasn’t finished. “You do know, I hope—there’s a hump in the moon. Earth causes a bulge of about 50 centimeters on both sides of the moon Did you know I think in centimeters?”

“This is new information to me, I admit.”

“Since I’m asking questions, let me ask this,” he said. “I know you know a lot about how I communicate, but did you know that we dogs have over forty ways of making our thoughts known? Did you know that?”

“I . . .”

“You do know a few of those ways, and I’m grateful,” said Scooter. “You know that when I paw you, I’m affectionally asking for your attention.”

“Like now. You are trying to paw my hands from the computer.”

“Right. You’ve been there along enough. You know about the whites of my eyes, right?”

“When you show them, you’re signaling anxiety? Or you’re stressed?”

“Or, somebody is trying to pat the top of my head. I really don’t like that.”

“You’re uncomfortable with pats on the top of your head?”

“I am. Don’t let people do that. Hey! You know about hackles, right?”

“I do.”

“Do I have hackles?”

“Hummmm. How would we know? You do, however, have a very persuasive whine.”

 “Mom, did you know a dog’s whine is considered the closest we come to using words? ‘Want’ is the word whine speaks.”

“Scooter, you are good at whine, but I have a question . . .”

“Wait. Did you know that the moon has no seasons? Did you know that it is moving away from our planet about 3.8cm every year? Did you know the moon has earthquakes? Well, not earthquakes, but quakes. Earth causes them, and while they aren’t very strong, they can last up to half an hour. Did you know  . . .”

 “Scooter, stop it! I have a question.

 “Last week when you and I reached the great cedar over by our ponds, I would say you nearly wet your pants, but you don’t wear pants. However, you did something I’ve never seen you do in these nearly three human years of yours. You captured a menacing scent of some sort. You warned me to stay back. You lowered your body. You strained at the leash. You dropped your tail between your hind legs. I’ve never seen your tail dropped. It was so unusual that I took a picture of you giving me a “something is very wrong here” look. That’s when I wished you had words.

 “That’s one of the 40-some body language signs we dogs deliver to people in our pack. That’s either fear or shame. I was scared. I mean, really scared. By the way, what is shame?

“Mom. Did you know the moon was probably made by a rock as big as Mars that hit the earth. Debris flying off into space made our moon. Maybe over four billion years ago.

“Mom, did you know that the solid surface of the earth has tides? The solid surface! It rises and falls just like the water does, only not very much. Maybe just a few centimeters with each tide.”

 

“Scooter, stop with the moon! We were talking about your birthday. Shall we add 33 days before we celebrate? Shall we celebrate under the moon in October rather than on August 24th?

 

October? I’m fine with August 24.