And now he is seven.

(With apologies to Mr. Milne.)

It's hard to believe Peanut has been with us for five years.  It seems like 20.  In honor of his birthday, let me introduce you more thoroughly to the nut.
 

First, a little background.  Peanut Butter was removed from his original home due to serious neglect.  He and his brother (a Border Collie) were kept 24/7 in their crates.  He was taken in by my favorite rescue and put into their foster program.  His foster mother was very tearful when handing him over.  I believe she must be a saint.

Personality:  Cheerful, manic, loving, stubborn - all traits are exhibited in five second intervals.

Motivation:  Food.  And more food.  His food, Lovey's food, the cat's food, my food.  He could consume his body weight every 15 minutes.

.

Strengths and Super Powers:  Protector of the house (and yard, street, any street in the area), can turn into a heat-seeking missile when a piece of food hits the floor, even if he is in another room, can completely cover himself with his blankets, world's best cuddler.

Weaknesses:  Selective deafness, tendency to evoke high drama at the drop of a hat

Fears:  Food supply shortages.  Flies.

I adore him.

Super power or albatross? But, first...

 I've got Cooties!

It's officially a relic.

What I actually have is an ancient relic (redundant?) from my childhood.  My sister and I stopped in a local estate sale establishment and found this treasure.  We both yelled, "COOTIE!!!!!" at the same time.  It is a little unnerving to find that your childhood toys can be exhibits in a museum.  We have yet to play this - a simple, thrown-die game in which you try to be the first to build your cootie.  It was an educational game and we may have been the only kids in our neighborhood familiar with the proboscis.  Not that it impressed anyone.

The discovery of the game led to fond reminiscing about other toys and games.  As I waxed eloquent about my much-missed Poor Pitiful Pearl doll, my sister stopped me in my tracks by telling me she had it.  I was thrilled until I realized that she meant to keep it, quoting the "possession is 9/10ths of the law".  I did my best to press for the remaining 1/10th, but she wasn't moved.  Maybe she'll give me visitation rights...

*****

They say that, as you get older, your sense of smell diminishes greatly.  My sense of direction may be skewed and my focus may have gone out the window (along with the fruit flies), but my sense of smell has sharpened to an alarming level.  It is both a blessing and a curse.  I can walk outside and revel in the smell of the pine trees, but I cannot make it down the laundry product aisle in the grocery without gagging.  I love natural smells, but wonder if the people in the lab who concoct scents for candles, dish soaps and laundry detergent have ever made it outside to experience what these scents actually smell like.  I recently got a Mrs. Meyers dish soap (all natural and blah, blah, blah) that was supposed to be mint.  Well, I have a long history with mint, and it doesn't smell like any mint I've met.  Unless, perhaps, there's a jasmint?  Don't even get me started on a simple scent, such as vanilla.  I have yet to meet a vanilla-scented candle that is even close.

Citrus and pine scents seem to be closer to target, but even those tend to go so far awry that one is left with a tang of chemicals in ones nose.

I'm going to go with Super Power, as the alternative would be rather unpleasant.  (Dead bird pendant...)