Two days shy of a year ago, I got to hold a two-day old puppy that looked and felt a whole lot like a fat sausage. Today, that sausage turns one, and it's hard to believe this burly, toothy, extremely bratty dog is an entire year old. When he was six weeks, I jokingly called him "Four Pounds of Murder." Well, now he's Ninety-Something Pounds of Murder. I named him after a vampire, and what a hell-raiser he is. Happy birthday, you dork.