Pug turned 8 today.

In 2008, I came home from a roadtrip and there was a depressed looking pug in a crate at my mom's house. He had been my aunt's, but she couldn't keep him anymore, so he wound up at my mom's house. He was three. I was twenty four. Neither of us appreciate being caged up, and we've been together and free ever since. Happy birthday, son. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me.