Happy birthday,
Mama.

From the guest desk: Thistle writes this letter to her own mama, whose birthday is December 1.

Dear Mama, I would like to begin your birthday letter calmly and sensibly. I would like to sit in one place, gather my thoughts, and tell you how much I love you. I have already been to the other side of the room twice while planning this sentence.

Happy birthday! I am very excited. Some of that excitement is about your birthday, some is about the cake, and a small but important amount is about the possibility that you might choose McDonald's for dinner. We will return to that after the sincere part.

You named the Missile.

You call me Thistle the Missile because I am fast, unpredictable, and sometimes destructive. I think this is an affectionate description of an exceptionally capable little dog.

I do not always know where I am going when I set off. Sometimes the destination changes halfway across the room. Sometimes a toy becomes involved. Occasionally, something that used to be one thing becomes several smaller things. These are the complications of working at speed.

But you know the dog underneath all that movement. You know when I am excited, when I am asking for something, and when I need a little help slowing down. Thank you for loving the whole Missile, including the parts that require you to say my name a second time.

Thank you for the squeakers.

Mama, you have given me so many wonderful squeaker toys. Each one arrives with something important to say, and I make sure it gets plenty of opportunities to say it.

Squeak when I pick it up. Squeak when I put it down. Squeak when you have just sat down and thought the house might be quiet. I believe in helping a toy reach its full potential.

Some of my toys eventually become quieter. I cannot explain every development in the squeaker industry. What matters is that you keep finding things that make me happy, and I notice. I may show my appreciation by running away with the present before you have finished removing the tag, but I notice.

And for every 5 a.m.

Thank you for waking up at 5 a.m. to let me out. At that hour, the sun has not even committed to attending the day. You have a warm bed. I have an urgent appointment with outside.

You get up for me anyway. It is a small part of your day and a very big part of mine: the sleepy footsteps, the opening door, knowing that when I need you, you will come.

I am not promising that your birthday will begin later. I am promising that if I wake you up, I will be extremely pleased to see you. I always am.

My education is going very well.

Thank you for teaching me lots of tricks and giving me an education. It cannot be easy to teach a pupil who occasionally has an urgent appointment at the other end of the room. You keep showing me what to do. You give me another chance. You get happy when I learn.

That makes me want to try again. I like getting something right, but I especially like the part where you are proud of me.

My long-term academic goal is to become smarter than Woody, my best friend. This is a friendly competition that Woody may not know we are having. I intend to keep the friendship excellent while pursuing a clear intellectual lead.

I hope we can continue my studies. There are so many things still to learn: more tricks, better listening, and how to tell whether a person holding a cheeseburger intends to share it. That last subject may require practical research.

You give me more than tricks to learn.
You give me the confidence to keep trying.

Pancake has agreed to help with the cake.

A birthday this important needs a cake, so I asked my good friend Pancake to help. Pancake agreed. I think this shows excellent judgment, although Pancake has since asked several questions about my approach to the flour.

We make a good team. Pancake brings careful observation and very firm opinions. I bring speed, enthusiasm, and the ability to be involved in several parts of the kitchen almost at once.

Our plan is to make you a lovely birthday cake. Pancake is taking the mixing very seriously. I am also taking it seriously, just at a higher speed. A little flour has gone somewhere we did not originally intend, which is several places.

If the layers lean a little, please look at them from the other side. If there is a paw print in the icing, that is our signature. Pancake says we should allow the cake to settle. I have asked whether that is a trick we can teach it.

We will keep working. It might take a few attempts, but you have taught me that needing another try is perfectly all right. This time, I get to use that lesson to make something for you.

A modest birthday dinner suggestion

Now, about McDonald's.

Mama, I hope you celebrate with something you really enjoy. If that happens to be McDonald's, and if a cheeseburger happens to be part of the order, and if a little bite happens to become available, I will be very easy to find.

I will be the highly educated dog watching the cheeseburger. I can demonstrate several of the tricks you taught me. I am prepared to make a strong presentation.

Of course, this is your birthday. You can choose whatever you like. My main wish is that you have a lovely day. The cheeseburger wish is simply standing very close behind it.

What I really want you to know

Thank you for all the ordinary things that make my life so good: the toys you choose, the early mornings you get up for me, the patience you give me, and the time you spend helping me learn.

You see a very fast, sometimes unpredictable little dog and keep finding ways to help me understand the world. You make me feel loved even when I have made a mess of something. You give me somewhere to come back to after every burst of speed.

I hope December 1 feels full of the happiness you give me. There will be a cake made with Pancake, lots of excited company, and a dog who thinks you are wonderful.

I might even be still for a little while, close enough for you to know how happy I am to be yours.