We didn’t have dogs growing up, so I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into when we adopted Gem. On balance, that seems like the best – or perhaps only – way to have made what turns out to be such a big life choice.

H.L. Mencken once said, “if I ever marry it will be on a sudden impulse, as a man shoots himself.” And though I wouldn’t compare marriage to suicide (at least most days), I do agree it’s a pretty rash, uninformed choice. Because, really, when you’re popping the question, what do you know about what married life is like?

Getting a dog (like, I assume, having a kid) is even crazier. You don’t really get to audition people for the role. There’s no trial period. Instead, this little thing shows up and it’s yours and there’s no going back. Worse, some of those little things grow up to be much nicer dogs (or people) than others, and you have no idea what yours is going to be.

In light of that, we couldn’t have been luckier with Gemelli. He truly is a wonderful puppy. Smart and curious, playful and funny, he’s a happy, confident, friendly guy. He’s just stubborn enough to be related to Jess; regardless of her schedule, Gem somehow manages to drag her every afternoon to Central Park, where he makes her lift him up to watch the ducks in the reservoir. And from the early days when he figured out how to unlatch his own crate, and let himself out to wreak secret midnight havoc, I knew he was enough of a troublemaker to be related to me.

By now, each day starts with a paw to the face (GET UP! GET UP! IT’S TIME TO GO TO THE DOG RUN!!!), ends with twelve and a half furry pounds sprawled across our legs at the bottom of the bed, and I can no longer imagine it any other way.

So happy first birthday Gem, we love you. Here’s to many more years together, though ideally with less pooping inside the house.