Happy Birthday Hanky The Christmas Poo

It's not just me that holds birthday parties for dogs. Some time in April, foster dog Hank turned a whopping 4 years old. To Adrian, who is fostering Hank, that means it's party time! So today we met at Bridgeman Park and had a party for Hanky The Christmas Poo (thanks eversomuch Jackie, for giving Hank that permanently-etched-in-my-brain title). Because unlike me, who has the good sense to hold such celebrations in the privacy of my own home, Adrian felt it should be a public event.

OTOH, he brought the humans pie, so I will forgive him.

The dogs got cake. Birthday boy Hank shows off his.

The guests, as they are relatively good sports, showed up in party attire. Or more correctly, they innocently showed up and then we leaped out of bushes in camo gear and forced hats upon their heads for our own sick, twisted amusement.


Real men wear pink
Once we had finished falling all over ourselves laughing at dogs in birthday hats, because yes, we are all 11, we then commenced further torture and presented them with the cake. But no-no, no touch cake until we get you all in a drooling, pleading pile o'dogs.
Then it was cake time. We let the discerning pallets of the assembled octet do the taste testing, as we felt that a cake somewhere called "Three Dog Bakery" was probably not something we wanted to eat ourselves.

Lars says "it's okay, if you're into cake."

Harriet was impressed with the portion sizes

Tweed suggests that it was 'a little tough'

Okay, but what is a party without some whipped cream? (yeah, that was Adrian's idea too. I will leave you to think about what that could mean, and I can't take responsibility for how it affects your overall impression of him)

Red Dog demonstrates his unerring talent of completely missing anything aimed directly at this mouth.

Piper demonstrates her overall personality, which is the unshakable belief that things just come to her if she so much as hints she would like them to.
Big gaping maw.

Tweed demonstrates that although he is bloody terrified of the sound of the aerated can of whipped cream, he can still partake of the edible-oily goodness.
(he used to demonstrate something similar, which was that a bar of soap tastes excellent even if you have to stand in the scary bath tub to lick it. I have no photographic evidence of this latter demonstration, but I thought the story might help you get to know Tweed a little better)

And Woo demonstrates a complete symbiosis with the spray can.

After we cleaned up the party...

...Hank got his birthday present (which he most definitely did not share. Hank's a bit of a greedy bastard!)
So. Happy birthday Hank!! Maybe for your birthday you will find a forever home of your own.

And relative to nothing at all, here's a photo of Harriet on a stump