I should have posted this yesterday, as his proper birthday is Oct. 30, but this way I get to use the Misfits-lyric headline. Kingsley, my best friend, is now six years old. We’ve been through a lot, me and this one — I took him home from Washington Animal Rescue League cradled in a towel while he shivered, but then he walked onto the carpet of my Rhode Island Avenue apartment and shat himself home. He remains the only dog I’ve ever met who can differentiate between degrees of hangover severity and adjust his behavior accordingly. I’ve co-written a number of children’s songs that feature him and his exploits, and have planned a coffee-table book of socially-critical photographs entitled Kingsley Fights Terrorism. Woe to the one who opens a garbage bag in his presence. His breakfast this morning was treats.