Here’s the big birthday Zippy with his chewed-up lobster tug . . . he’s worn out and sleeping under the only claw left whole.
This day is strange, not because of the rain and wind, I expect this living north of Seattle, but because I remember the day I met puppy Zippy three months after this April date in 2006 . . . He was a gentle sprite, tearing up a Santa Claus chew toy, the “runt” of the litter, unpicked and jester-like in the breeder’s presence. He’s become a big brother to Kipling, who is in her third year round the planet. He loves to play, and he’s a fickle beast when teased, still loping along to play soccer with multiple tennis balls. He’s the goalie.
On this happy day, I am making an Indian feast in his honor (no, he doesn’t get to partake of the spicy chicken, but he loves the scent) . . . the chicken kabobs in green sauce came out in delicate fashion. I’ll add them to my own Butter Sauce, something restaurants call Chicken Tikka Masala, with house-made raita and cucumber salad, and jasmine rice.
Best to all who are creative with their own birthdays, enjoy your new ages to the fullest,
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