Arf! Thanks, all you gentle humans, for the birthday greetings! I have gotten a lot of replies, both on this blog and at my dad’s Facebook page, congratulating me on reaching my first year milestone.
Didn’t get to play with my new balls yet (the ones that mom and dad blew up for my birthday). Can’t wait until they let me have them.
One of dad’s friends, however, questioned whether I was really one year old. He said that I should be seven years old, in “dog-years.” This friend of dad’s needs a basic lesson in astronomy, and a clarification of the definition of “one year.”
A year is the amount of time that it takes the Earth to complete one orbit around the Sun. I thought that all gentle humans knew this, but then again, I can’t expect all humans to be as smart as a clever pup. Since dogs occupy space on the same Earth that you humans do, it stands to reason that a year for us would equal the same amount of time as it would for you. Makes, sense, doesn’t it?
So forget about this “dog-year” rubbish. It is just a myth.
I must admit, however, that the concept of a dog-year is very valid, given a different set of circumstances. If our planet was in orbit around Sirius, instead of the Sun, then everything would be measured in dog years. It only stands to reason.
Because, as I hope you all know, Sirius is the Dog Star.