Banksy is my only dog with a birthday. She’s the only one with an astrology, she gets Aquarius. All the Aquarians I know don’t believe in astrology. Or chew up dog beds. Banksy is one year old and she will never, ever, ever chew up another dog bed again. Maybe.

I’m not one of those dog cupcake maker party havers. If we’re lucky, the rain will stop for her birthday and we might get to practice some running dogwalks. Have a walk. Work on things that you can work on with a handler who can only hobble. Something Banksy did not ask for on her birthday was an agility trainer who currently can barely walk. But luckily who can walk enough to drag some jumps and a little board out to a field in the rain and still work on some jump skills and her alt-move, 2o2o.

Banksy is a weirdo. She stares at blowers and pieces of dust. She has extremely strong preferences about fur brushing and fingernail grinding and being touched by human hands. She hates getting in the car when the fun is over. She is super quiet 99% of the time EXCEPT when there is agility happening and then she is an over the top screamer freak and sounds like Cujo in her crate. Her toy control skillz suck. She can turn her eyeballs into laser beam Crazy Xray Eyes and totally freak you out by staring right through you. Burn right through your clothes. Some intense shit, those crazy eyes.

She is also amazing. Her spirit animals are Tina Fey, Kim Gordon, Carrie Brownstein, Kim Deal and the artist known as Banksy. She is super sweet and super smart and super funny and super beautiful and likes to stir shit up. She carries around a frisbee that she custom chewed through the middle on and wears it over her head like a hat. She’s a religious zealot who worships feverishly at the cult of Tennis Ball. She has a PhD in everything. She eats SO MUCH FOOD and stays oh so skinny.

We were over at an illegal grassy lawn this morning doing some training stuff on some stairs by the building there, and cik/caps around the fire hydrant. And stays. My god do we work on the stays. Nobody is supposed to have dogs on that field but it was Sunday and it was raining and no cops gonna come out there on Sunday morning in the rain. And this car pulled up and unloaded 3 giant poodles and their tennis ball. And another car pulled up and unloaded 2 labs and their tennis ball and they all went to town on the ball and chasing each other and running mayhem fiasco through our little training session.

And Banksy, she looks at those dogs and she looks at their tennis balls and she goes back up to the top of the stairs because she’s all, screw that. She’s all about 2o2offing on the stairs and then we are tugging and she is all business, this Banksy lady. She is doing her thing and the poodles are all, HOLA and the labs are all HOLA and Banksy is one big work ethic. She has selected agility as her Major and her dissertation is titled Do the Agility All the Time Even Faster.

She’ll take a break for flopping around with Ruby. Or watching Gary do the laundry. Or barking at a stump with Gustavo. Or moving tennis balls with Otterpop and their joint psychic brain waves. Weirdos. Or laying under my chair. Banksy likes to be where she can see me. I may be an Evil Witch, but I am definitely HER evil witch. I’m growing on her. She lets me scritch her chest now and sometimes gives me kisses.

Happy Birthday Banksy. We sure are lucky to have you.