Libby's 21 (in dog years)

My Velcro baby, my tiny dancer, my Clumsy Smurf, my little pixie stick, the mutt caboose, Libby Leigh is three years old today! Thanks to her broad muzzle, sturdy frame, and my tendency to get lost in her candy-colored eyes, Steve and I agree she looks like a cross between Nick Lachey and a Shetland pony.

"Libby Lachey"

Jarred: If Libby were a person, a judge would require her to wear an electronic monitoring device on her ankle.

Me: You're probably right. You know Libby shares a birthday with Lindsay Lohan?

Jarred gives me the side-eye. He thinks it's pathetic that I know this. But it's true. Libby shares a birthday with Lindsay Lohan, George shares a birthday with Hitler, Laney shares a birthday with Tiger Woods, and my childhood dog, Max, shared a birthday with Jesse James (the American outlaw, not the Vanilla Gorilla).

I adopted Libby because I thought George had run away to live with a second grader*, never to return, and because she so strongly resembled Laney. I love Laney so much that the thought of one day living without her is unbearable, so I thought it best to have a back-up. This dog, who began as a George replacement and as Laney 2.0 has become a special member of our family member in her own right, and has risen to the ranks of Steve's Favorite Dog. We love Libby!

*Pure speculation. He disappeared before school one morning, and when I didn't find him on the side of the road, I assumed he went home with a kid who asked, "Mom, can I keep him?"