This past Saturday my sassy old bull terrier, Murphy, celebrated her eleventh birthday (humorously enough, she and my recent ex-girlfriend share the same birthday).
The old girl is doing well enough. I adopted Murphy when had just turned eight, and I can tell she is slowing down as the years progress. She still has a bout of the “zoomies” in the evenings before bedtime, but that usually wears her out. Mostly, she spends her days lounging like a diva and begging for scraps from me, her all-too-manipulable owner. As I write this post, she’s relaxing on the floor near me, and I can tell she is considering whether or not she wants to get up and go out—which, when she hears the clackety-clacking of my keyboard, she usually wants to do!
According to the American Kennel Club, the life expectancy for a bull terrier is between twelve and thirteen years, though I have known of bull terriers that live longer (interestingly enough, the miniature bull terrier has a similar life expectancy). Other than slowing down a bit, I don’t think Murphy is going anywhere anytime soon, but she is nearing the end of the breed’s average life expectancy.
Here’s hoping the old girl has at least a few more birthdays in her. She’s a good, albeit sassy, dog, and I’m thankful to have this chubby, stinky old diva in my life.
With that, here is 15 June 2023’s “TBT: Happy Birthday, Murphy!”
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