Today (or rather yesterday, as it’s now after midnight) is Daisy’s birthday. Daisy is my West Highland white terrier. She must think it’s still her birthday – as I write this, she’s showing her sense of entitlement from her perch on the back of my couch (which she knows is off limits).

I think I can safely say that I never celebrated a dog’s birthday until Taylor was old enough to have something to say about it. On my way home from the gym, though, I picked up my sister and took her to Pet Essentials, where she helped me pick out Daisy’s gift (a soccer hoodie for her to wear when we go for walks on chilly nights), and then to Party City, where I somehow managed to drop $40 on puppy-themed party decorations and favors (and a $3.99 Hannah Montana charm bracelet, because I’m a pushover). From the moment I arrived at the house to get Taylor until I dropped her off an hour later (just two minutes after her 8:00 curfew), she chattered and laughed and smiled constantly from the backseat of my car and the aisles of the stores as she clutched her shopping baskets full of goodies. When I hugged her goodbye with promises that Friday night’s big party would come soon, all of my stress and my worries momentarily fell away. Those feelings returned as I backed down the driveway – they always do – but even still, I live for moments like that one we shared in the kitchen just before I left, just as she lives for puppy parties and cheap Hannah Montana charm bracelets and Disney DVD movie releases. She is like every other child in that the sorts of things we adults are usually too busy to notice bring pure, simple joy. The road to the one thing that could end my daily torture – a cure to the disease that threatens her life – will be difficult, but it is not impassable. And in the meantime, I will continue to live for those moments – those moments when she’s simply my sister.