It's a joke, but there's something in the way his father holds it in his paws, the way he glares down at the piece, makes Sherman think he had made a huge mistake

"It's a collar, dad," He begins, his tone borderline apologetic. "get it? Ha, because...you...you're..." He loses all his thoughts momentarily, his ability to speak. Sherman had little idea how old Mr. Peabody truly was, due to the fact that he kept it very secret, and that he conjured concoctions that slowed the aging progress quite a bit. Regardless, the ever curious ginger suspected that since he was 20, his father had to be in his golden years. As time passed, he learned Mr. Peabody was a man–well, rather, a dog–who had it all. From rare books to luxurious furniture, custom made bow ties to priceless electronics. When his birthday came around, Sherman did the best he could with gifts. From childhood it was rather simple, home made cards and gifts were a given, and rather cherished by Mr. Peabody, who kept them all safe in his bedside drawer. Soon enough, however, Sherman was in middle school, then high school, and eventually college. Finding presents became more and more difficult, more and more time consuming. In his more mature years, Sherman began taking his father to dinner, a movie, and back home for some light conversation. It was simple enough, and Mr. Peabody seemed to enjoy it, but it never sparked more than a "thank you, Sherman" and a small nod. Sherman wanted to impress his father, like any son would, but when your father's a high IQ canine of all trades, what could you do?

When he first came across the website, it seemed like a harmless idea. The collars came in all sizes, all colors, all custom made. After dinner, Sherman drove his father back home, sat in the den where they usually had their light chat, and presented him the small, red box it came in. Sherman thought his father would get a kick out of it. He loved cheesy things, he lived for them. There wasn't a pun in the world that Mr. Peabody didn't know by memory, and in the past, he received other gag gifts and laughed at those too. And yet, watching his father unwrap the leather band, his usual small smile fading into an unsure expression, made Sherman's heart sink into his stomach. He sat there, across his father, apologizing softly, laughing nervously. Mr. Peabody continued to gaze at the red collar, his name printed in black, a small black bow tie separating the prefix instead of a period.

"Dad?"

It was then that Mr. Peabody looked up at his son, his expression softened, though still somewhat confused. "It's...a collar."

Sherman rubs at his neck and sighs heavily, unsure of what in the world he could say to make things better. His gaze drops to the floor, ashamed. "Look, dad, I–"

"I've never had a collar before."

Sherman's neck jerks up to the phrase. His tone doesn't sound upset at all. He sounds intrigued.

"I love it, Sherman." Mr. Peabody whispers. He grazes the lettering fondly. A tiny grin appears on his lips. He removes his classic red bow tie and pauses for a second. "Would...would you..." He holds up the collar for a brief moment, but no gestures are needed. His son jolts from his seat, nearly stumbling from excitement. He takes the collar and sets it around his father's neck, making sure it's just right. Peabody makes his way toward a mirror near the fireplace. He gives the collar a light flick and smirks.

"Looking sharp, dad."

"It does suit me rather well, doesn't it?" There's joy in his voice. Sherman can hear it, feel it echo throughout the room. "I can't guarantee that your old man can still learn new tricks, but I can sport new threads if I do say so myself."

Sherman grins. It dawned on him that there was no need to impress his father. No, there was something much more he sought after than to leave his father breathless was countless degrees, impossible achievements, and exquisite gifts. He knew deep down, he'd been proud of him since day one.

"Happy birthday, dad."