The ones that require a level of emotional preparation, logistical planning, and baked goods only dog owners can understand.

In our household, that holiday is Winnie Lew’s Gotcha Day.

For the uninitiated, a “Gotcha Day” is the anniversary of the day you adopted your pet. It’s like a birthday, only with more gratitude, fewer awkward relatives, and – if you happen to be Winnie Lew – significantly more treats.

Winnie Lew is a 23-pound canine contradiction.

She’s part Pekinese, part philosopher, and part demanding royal. Her hobbies include judging other dogs from a safe distance, rolling dramatically in grass as if auditioning for a Shakespearean tragedy, and rejecting 90% of the treats offered to her.

We call it “selective snacking.” She calls it “standards.”

Her Gotcha Day, therefore, must be worthy of her very particular sensibilities. This year marked her fifth year with me – five years since she trotted into my life, plopped onto my couch like she owned it, and sighed a sigh that said, “Finally, my staff has arrived.”

The Early Years of Celebration

The first Gotcha Day was modest. It was, after all, during the COVID shut down.

A small celebration. A single candle stuck into a pup-cup of whipped cream. A toy shaped like a squirrel. A “Happy Gotcha Day!” banner printed in Comic Sans – because I hadn’t yet learned that Winnie Lew is not a Comic Sans dog.

She is a serif dog. A small-batch artisanal font dog.

This year, however, preparations for Winnie Lew’s Gotcha Day brunch begin with the sound of rustling tissue paper and the faint smell of peanut butter frosting.

I start planning weeks in advance, partly because I am a sentimental fool and partly because I know Winnie’s standards rival those of a Michelin food critic.

The cake must be grain-free, dairy-free, human-safe and iced with an alarming amount of peanut butter.

It must be a real cake – not a cake for dogs. I don’t want the “I survived the shelter for this?” look like I got the second year. Lesson learned.

Decorations, Guest Lists, and Royal Standards

Then there are the decorations.

Streamers and a “Happy Gotcha Day!” banner adorning the living room.

Winnie does not like balloons. The whole popping thing reminds her of fireworks and thunderstorms. So, balloons are out.

Finally, there’s the matter of the guest list. We invite her closest friends – all humans of course because they bring the best gifts. I told her she really should invite the neighbor’s cat as well, but she was having none of it.

No Gotcha Day is complete without an outfit.

Winnie Lew tolerates clothing about as well as most people tolerate dental surgery. So, this year, we landed on a tasteful floral collar. It was simple, elegant, and just gaudy enough to make her look like she was attending a garden party in the Hamptons.

She strutted around the house, head high, as if saying, “Yes, I am the reason you vacuum twice a day. You’re welcome.”

Brunch Begins at Dawn

The morning of the big event dawned bright and far too early for any sensible person, but Winnie had no interest in sensible people. She knew it was her day. She had an agenda.

7:00 AM – Wake human
7:01 – Receive treat
7:02 – Judge human for being slow

By 9:00 AM, Winnie Lew had taken her position on the top of the sofa by the front window, surveying the driveway as though awaiting the arrival of foreign dignitaries.

The moment a car so much as slowed in front of the house, she began her ceremonial greeting: barking with enough authority to suggest she had written several international treaties and was ready to renegotiate them at a moment’s notice.

The first guests arrived bearing pastries, because humans are easily trained and Winnie Lew loves a flaky croissant almost as much as she loves being admired.

She pranced to the door, tail high, ears crooked in that signature asymmetrical way that suggests she is perpetually mid-eyeroll.

Once everyone was there and the mimosas were poured, guests settled in at the table making polite conversation, but Winnie made her rounds like a seasoned politician working the donors’ banquet.

She paused beside each chair, staring pointedly until someone offered a bite or a scratch, whichever seemed more likely to earn their vote in the upcoming imaginary election.

“Winnie Lew, you look adorable today!” Mary Beth cooed.

Winnie’s response was to place a single paw on her knee – the way a mob boss might place a hand on your shoulder after you’ve said something useful. Approving, yet vaguely threatening.

Cake, Gifts, and Controlled Chaos

Her guests raised their mimosas to honor the queen of the day.

“Happy Gotcha Day, Winnie Lew.”

Winnie Lew yawned as if to say Yes, you’re welcome. She was getting bored and decided to take a nap under the table until cake time. The cake was pretty disgusting, but she loved it and her face was soon coated in peanut butter.

After the toast and cake came gifts, which Winnie accepted with the air of a monarch receiving tribute from lesser kingdoms.

A plush duck? Acceptable. A rope toy? Predictable. A squeaky cupcake? Fine, she’ll allow it.

Half of the gifts she ignored (especially the blueberry carrot organic treats – can’t blame her on those), until someone made the squeaker noise, at which point she pounced with the ferocity of a lion who has spotted its first zebra in weeks.

About halfway through the gift unwrapping, she discovered the wrapping paper was more interesting than half the toys, especially the tissue paper.

Note to self – I should invent chicken flavored tissue paper for dogs. I attempted to stop her from eating the pink paper, but by that point she had made it clear that the rules did not apply to her today, if they ever had.

The Reign Continues

Finally, with all objectives complete – admiration received, offerings accepted, treats consumed, guest covered in fur – Winnie Lew leapt onto the back of the sofa again and collapsed with an exaggerated sigh.

One guest whispered, “She throws a better party than most adults I know.”

As the humans finished their mimosas and gathered dishes, Winnie Lew drifted into a blissful nap, one ear still cocked upward, ready to judge anything suspicious happening within a three-mile radius.

Her Gotcha Day brunch had been a success. A triumph.

A once-a-year reminder that this spunky little rescue dog – this scrappy, opinionated, dramatically overconfident creature – has managed to turn her humans and their friends into a devoted entourage.

And honestly? They wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because for all her snark, all her theatrics, all her shameless demands for attention, Winnie Lew is a master class in joy.

She is the living embodiment of the belief that every day is worth celebrating, every person is a potential friend, and every brunch is improved by the presence of a small dog with a big personality and absolutely no sense of her own size.

So here’s to Winnie Lew – may every Gotcha Day be even more over-the-top, more chaotic, more indulgent, and more perfectly, delightfully her.

After all, she’s the monarch. She’s the good girl. She’s the legend.

And the rest of us? We’re just lucky to be invited to brunch.

Amy George is an Episcopal priest in Selma, Alabama, where she shares an office with her volunteer pastoral care assistant, Winnie Lew. When not doing God’s work, you can find Amy doing Dog’s work–vacuuming a never ending supply of dog hair, chauffeuring Winnie Lew, and being the provider of endless dog treats. Amy feels blessed to have no fear of ever being attacked by squirrels, UPS delivery people, or small lizards.