I turned 40 on Friday. It was a day I’d been dreading for weeks. October and her lovely companion Autumn have always been my favorite time of the year. But ever since my 27th birthday thirteen years ago, when my mother passed away a week after my birthday, October has always brought with it a wellspring of bittersweet memories. My birthday and the loss of my mother are inextricably and permanently bound together; I cannot anticipate one without continuing to mourn the other.

As the big day approaches each year, I mentally cross off “lasts” that I remember from that final birthday celebrated with her: the last gift she gave to me; the last birthday card she sent to me, which I have saved and faithfully reread each year; the last pictures taken with her; the last time I saw her, at my birthday celebration; the last phone call from her, the morning of my birthday. Each year, the memories grow fainter, and each year I feel a bit more panic as I watch them receding.

Perhaps because this year was a “milestone” birthday, I was feeling it even more keenly. I was also feeling a bit of panic at not having accomplished so many of the things I wanted to before the “Big 4-0” arrived.  And I always feel so much the pressure, self-imposed I suppose, of giving every appearance of being happy on my birthday, so each year is an exercise in small deceptions on my part.

This year was set to be no exception, until…

My husband, that sweet and loving man, made the grandest gesture possible to try to make this birthday a special one: he surprised me with a puppy. Ahh, that explains why she hasn’t been writing for a while…

Yes, a puppy. Don’t mistake the situation: our children and I desperately wanted a dog. I had, in fact, told my husband that I either wanted a dog or a housekeeper for my birthday. After years of adamant refusals from him on the dog question, I felt pretty safe that Merry Maids would be showing up on my doorstep Friday afternoon.

And yet, incredibly, there she was, peering up at me from the floor: a shimmering, sleek, shining, silver Weimaraner. At four months old, she was already tall, but as I sank to the floor, she threw herself into my arms and snuggled her warm muzzle into my neck: I was undone. It was, as my husband had planned, the best birthday I’d had in years.

Day 6 now, is another matter…

Things I had forgotten about having a puppy:

• They always smell like puppies, no matter what shampoo you use on them, and now your house does, too. Sometimes this is a good smell, and sometimes it’s just a smell–it really depends on the day’s weather.
• If it’s not nailed down, puppies will snatch it and run. If it is nailed down, puppies will wait until your back is turned and chew it to bits.
• If it’s a particularly dangerous item to chew, such as a novelty pin, electric cord, safety razor, or pocket knife, it will become your puppy’s new magnificent obsession.
• If your puppy has not yet figured out a way to escape from its crate, that only means it is still plotting.
• Puppies are expensive: food, treats, toys, vet visits, shots, collars, leashes, crates, bigger crates, escape-proof crates, rawhide chews, food and water dishes, air freshener, carpet cleaner–and that’s just the first week.
• Puppies are blessed by their Creator with the uncanny ability to accurately predict the very spot on the floor where you plan to step next and materialize themselves there from three rooms away.
• A puppy riding in a shopping cart is a funny thing. So is a puppy trying to navigate the stairs for the first time.
• Puppies demand sacrifice: sacrifice of sleep, sacrifice of time, sacrifice of privacy, and sacrifice of furniture.

But lest you think I’m just a crabby 40-year-old ungratefully complaining about the best birthday present ever (oh, let’s face it, I am), here are some rather more pleasant memories being rekindled for me, along with the other less fragrant and more destructive ones:

• Snuggling up next to a warm, sleepy puppy is a cure for any blues.
• Nothing makes kids giggle like a wet puppy tongue on the cheek. 
• You meet many more neighbors on the street when you’re walking a puppy than you do when you’re running alone.  
• The stars over your front lawn are particularly beautiful at 1:00 in the morning (and 3:00, 4:45, and 5:50, too).

These are the things I’ve been remembering for the last 6 days; they’re the things that have been keeping me pretty busy, even to the point of keeping me from writing. But as I’m writing this, I’m glancing down occasionally to the floor at my feet, where the new god(dess) of our household, Loki the Norse Dog of Mischief (not a typo; “Dog” is just “God” spelled backwards) is slumbering away. She snores occasionally, whimpers or trots in her dreams, and from time to time, gazes up at me with her beautiful, trusting eyes, and I remember the last thing I’d forgotten about having a puppy: I’m a sucker for those puppy dog eyes every time. And my mother, that original lover of all things puppy, would certainly approve.