8 years

Happy Anniversary, Mr. Dog! Eight years. Man, that's something. And after eight years, I still adore you. If anything, you are even cooler and more awesome than you were when I agreed to be yours forever. I still promise to love you til the end of time, but as we grow older, I have decided to add to my vows.

I promise to let you have the comfy chair in the living room. Your back sucks, you need it more than I do and I know it. It's one of the costs of marrying an older man, and I accept that.

I promise not to complain too much about how long our many home improvement projects are taking. To emphasize a critical point here, remember I said "too much"

I promise to continue to always be right. I know how much you value that even if you pretend you don't.

I promise to keep on making zombie jokes when you make old man noises. For your aches and pains, at least you'll get a laugh. Sure you say it's getting old, but we both know better.

I promise to keep rolling my eyes at your terrible jokes. Let's be honest, if I started laughing at them now, you'd know I was faking.

I promise to keep my car almost as messy as your car, just to make you feel better about your mess. I do this for you. As you well know, my natural inclination is to keep things clean and tidy.

I promise to keep on being quirky and erratic. I know it amuses you even more than it frustrates you and I keep it going because I know it is important to you.

I do these things because I love you. So. Damn. Much. Happy anniversary, my love. I still love you more than zombies love brains. Smooch.