Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Chet Baker is not the kind of dog who becomes obsessed with any one toy. He's not like Holly Garnett, the black cocker spaniel who lived in our neighborhood in Richmond, who loved rocks so much that she was never without one, and at four years of age had worn her teeth down to the gums and had to be fed canned food. (I should know; I petsat for the entire neighborhood). For Chet, any item that is held enticingly out of his reach, be it a tennis ball or a grocery bag or a sock or a clothespin, is an instant toy. He gets his game face on, ears perked, lips puckered.
I managed to capture Chet's game face last night as Bill settled down to watch the season premiere of The Sopranos, a show that I like in theory but which in practice is waaaaay too violent for me. The first guy that gets beat up sends me scuttling upstairs to read. Can't do it. It was a chemical change that came over me when Phoebe was born. But I digress.
So here's Chet, focused on a tennis ball. I would hate to be that tennis ball. Moments after this was taken, Chet came down full force on Bill's stomach, oof!
We've been practicing our program, "Music of the Birds," for a performance in Louisville, KY, on Tuesday night. Tuesday's going to be a big day for us: a TV appearance, then an interview with Heidi Caravan at Louisville's NPR affiliate, WFPL, culminating in our music program for the Beckham Bird Club. Time for a big zit!
So we got out the instruments, and while we were playing Chet sized up the plush interior of Bill's guitar case and thought that it would be a very nice place to have a nap.
It's OK if I sit in here, isn't it? I have a rope I can chew. I promise I will not chew the nice velvet.
I am a very small dog, a very humble, very clean one. Think about it. I can assure you that everything will be fine.
Posted by Julie Zickefoose at 4:12 AM