Today my dog Jack turns 10 years old, which in human years means he’s still far more mature than me. Jack’s my best friend, loyal sidekick in life, and the only member of the household who has never once questioned my life choices. He lives each day on repeat like the brindle canine version of Punxsutawney Phil and honestly, I admire his commitment to consistency and routine.

Jack’s incredibly strong, outdoorsy, and athletic, and he’s been my co-pilot on morning trail runs for years, which is impressive because I’m usually the one gasping for air and regretting the last whisky while he casually jogs ahead looking for squirrels. He’s also the world’s top-ranked frisbee champion, and a swimmer so graceful he moves like an otter — if the otter was easily distracted by floating leaves, needed frequent pee breaks, or occasionally tried to drink the lake.

Ten years with Jack has gone by faster than he can inhale a liver treat. He’s the sweetest, kindest dog on the planet and would have been an incredible father, however a vet made an “executive decision” years ago that ensured his only children are plush squeaky toys. We don’t talk about it, it’s still a sore subject.

Jack’s rules for life are simple:

• Always live in the moment
• Greet your friends like they’ve been gone forever
• Stick your head out the window at every opportunity
• If someone is cooking, supervise and look cute
• Eat, run, play, poop, sleep (and press repeat)

Clearly I have many lessons to learn from my dog. Here’s to many more years of trails, face licks, questionable breath, and Jack continuing to believe he is objectively the greatest dog who ever lived—because he is.