Wednesday, March 8, 2006
I have just typed the first two words of another Guatemala entry, firmly in the same sublime mood as last night, when an email comes in from Sharon. It seems that NonBirding Bill is pining for a little Chet Baker. Poor NBB. I just so happen to have blown 40 or so exposures on him this evening. So I take a left turn and decide to give Chet fans a fix. I mean, ocellated turkeys are wonderful, but we all know you can't make them wear sweaters with their names on them.
This dog is so happy to have his pack together again. When I made a nice roast tonight, his joy was complete. He sat quietly at tableside, opening his big, otterlike mouth as we dropped scraps into it. I hear a collective gasp from all the dog trainers out there. Yes, we feed him at the table. Sorry. I always vowed I'd never have a dog that begged at the table, and my lines got all stretchy. Chet begs with such quiet dignity, never pushing, just sitting there looking hopeful, that we cave every time. ******Warning: Pop Cultural Digression ahead.*******
We all couched for American Idol, and when Taylor Hicks sang "Takin' it to the Streets," that ratty ol' Doobie Brothers tune, I leapt up and bounced around the room like Daffy Duck. Woo hoo! Woo hoo! Taylor Hicks for president! Oh, how he rokks. Confession: Michael McDonald's Motown albums are my car music. Bill can't stand it, which makes it all the sweeter. I've already corrupted the kids. But we're all united in our support for TH. I love how unaware he is of how he looks when he sings. He's too busy getting the music out to worry about crap like that. Hear that, Acey boy? All right. Enough about that dopey show.
At bedtime, it was time for stories. Bill donned Woody's cowboy hat and read a bowdlerized and not exactly kosher version of a Thomas the Tank Engine story to Liam, who gets the sly humor and laughs himself breathless. Chet likes to crowd in and listen. Me, too. Moments after this picture was taken, Chet leaned over and urped a few roast bits onto the floor. Mood One: Nausea. Dog trainers, you are allowed a smug grin. OK, now stop it.
Upchucking done, it was time for Gremlin's Gold. We had a great round, over 30 minutes of Boston terrier nonsense. Chet won Round One, securing the gold under the bed. But Phoebe wrestled it away and made him work to get it back. Mood Two: Acquisitive.
Mood Three: Bar No Holds. He punched her right in the stomach with both front paws. It was not an accident.
Man, you can take a lot of pictures trying to get your dog in full flight, especially when your camera has a variable three or four second delay before the flash will fire. So I just push the shutter randomly and eventually I get something worth showing you. Delete, delete, delete, ahh.
Mood Four: Jordanesque.
Games completed, Chet and Phoebe settled down for a cuddle. Last night, we washed him with L'Oreal Burst of Cherry Almond Baby Shampoo and finished his coat with a little Bath and Body Works chocolate-scented body butter. It's made with sustainably harvested shea oil. Nothing but the best for Baker. He smells like a box of chocolate covered cherries. This works well on Chet because he totally lacks any doggy odor. Score one more for Bostons.Actually, I prefer the scent of rotten rabbit guts, but I'll humor you all for now.
Good thing he likes being a pillow. It is one of his major functions. Mood Five: Cuddlepup.
And so, to bed. Such a fine doggie, this Chet Baker. He's got soul. I honestly don't know what we did without him.
Posted by Julie Zickefoose at 8:50 PM