This is the third time I've had a birthday since starting this freaking blog. That is just a ridiculous amount of time to be waffling on. You should take me down the back paddock and put me out of my misery like an old dog, before I start to go blind and bark halfheartedly at parked cars. Now I'm 25. What's that in dog years? 175? So relatively speaking, about a century ago you should have all kneeled down in front of your children and said in grave tones, "Darling, Shauny's gone to doggie heaven. No, don't cry, she'll be happy up there! Now she is free to run through meadows and hump any leg she chooses!"