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A Party for Winston

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Yesterday was my birthday, and I am now two years old. Mistress is conflicted between wondering if I have edged into my terrible twos, or if I’ve entered my teen years and am now a fourteen-year-old.

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Before they came home from church yesterday, my people stopped at a 99 cent store to buy things for my party. No suitable hats, so Mistress decided a birthday cup would work, and so it did. From the gift ribbon and paper area upstairs, she brought down this beautiful blue ribbon, punched holes in the cup, and tied a bow under my chin.

Purple pom-poms was the background for my party and my plate was beautiful as you can see.

.imageRefreshments consisted of a small scoop of ice cream, and a cookie nibble. I wasn’t allowed much of the cookie for it had chocolate in it, and they tell me I should not eat chocolate. I did try to snatch up the glittery purple stuff, but Mistress pulled the slim strands from my mouth, laughing, saying they would not be good for me.

As I dipped into my refreshment plate, my hat slipped. Mistress removed it, so I could lap up my birthday treat without unnecessary hindrances.image

I thought you’d like to know about my birthday . . .and in case you didn’t know and didn’t send me good wishes yesterday, you may do so now. And, uhm . .presents. Well, I’m told it is not nice to ask for any. . .so just listen to your heart, I guess.

Good-bye from Winston–Sir Winston of Crestline, that is.