Dear Mr. Brown,
Today you turn 13 years old.
In human years that makes you 91.
Tonight we'll have cake, champagne and a regular hootenanny.
You don't hear well anymore.
Sometimes you get confused with where you are, who you are, and who are those two weirdos standing in the kitchen?...
I like to remind you every day 'I'm your mommy and this is where you live' and you give me a little wag.
It's okay.
You're an old man.
You still have your playful crazy spirit.
Your love of food knows no bounds as proven by the three bags of hamburger buns you ate last July.
Three. Whole. Bags.
Bag included.
You still bite my fingers in the morning going down the hall to breakfast.
You still cuddle with me in bed before D kicks you out.
You hate having your picture taken.
You love sneaking slurps of D's whiskey.
You're like a bull in a china shop when you run thru the house.
You're my Mr. Brown
Happy Birthday Quintus.
we love you
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