The Ultimate Chet Baker

Update on the peas: It went into the low 20's the night of April 2, and what parts of my several hundred pea plants that were sticking out of the straw mulch are looking decidedly dark and translucent this morning. Crap. I may wind up doing the whole durn start-em-in-the-greenhouse thing all over again. Well, my gardening is highly experimental, and I'm no stranger to failure. I'll keep you posted. I WANT PEAS BEFORE WE GO TO NORTH DAKOTA IN MID-JUNE. And I WILL GET THEM.

Update on the update, 3:47 pm April 3: Yep, more than half of the plants look like they've been nipped in half by frost, their little waists pinched, with the tops dying off. Some that were completely covered by straw look fine. The roots of the ones that are nipped are doubtless still alive, and they may send up more shoots, but I think some more pea planting is in my future. That's OK. I've got a greenhouse, and more seed. I still love the idea of starting them in the greenhouse, labor-intensive as it may be. It's a way to beat the rotten germination I get in the cold, cold ground. Looks like tonight's low of 26 is the lowest it'll go for the next ten days. Current plan: Start more, plant them next to the cold-nipped ones, see who wins. Life is an experiment, and the garden is but one of my laboratories.

S.J. Perelman:  "I guess I'm just an old mad scientist at bottom. Give me an underground laboratory, half a dozen atom-smashers, and a beautiful girl in a diaphanous veil waiting to be turned into a chimpanzee, and I care not who writes the nation's laws."

So here we are, with the last Chet Baker in snow photos that I suppose I'll take this wintry spring. You never know, though. We've had plenty of April snowstorms. Usually during those, I'm so busy hand-feeding baby bluebirds that I don't have time for dog photography.

Little dog, big barn. He loves to look for the animal inhabitants of such ancient spaces.

Looking for voles. Always with the voles. Here, he pauses while digging out a vole tunnel. I've never seen him catch one, but he enjoys the hunt. I grew up with a dachshund named Volks who, not having badgers to hunt, was similarly obsessed with shrews. He'd dig vast tunnels under tree roots, lying on his side, wearing his front nails to little buttons, and sometimes drag himself home, having been bitten and poisoned by a short-tailed shrew, North America's only venomous mammal. Back then, nobody knew Blarina brevicaudata had venom sacs in its tooth roots. And we used to think he'd been poisoned as he'd lie around for a couple of days afterward. Well, he had been, but not by an irritated neighbor. By a shrew.

Don't mess with shrews, Chet Baker.

He plunges down a steep bank, a picture of unerring grace

and races by me smiling. Did you catch that? Was I magnificent?

Always magnificent, Chet Baker. The best doggeh.

I will show you magnificent. Try this pose.

Ahh, perfect. Look at that topline. Thank you for that one. You look like a fullback, missing only a small leather helmet. 

Here I come! Ready or not!!

I'm ready, Chet Baker. Bring it on.

It was a very dark day, still snowing, actually, and I had no business getting photos like this with a 300 mm telephoto lens, but mine is not just any telephoto lens. It is a dream lens, on a dream camera. Not to mention a dream doggeh.

All photos taken with my Canon 7D and Canon EF 70-300 mm 1:4-5:6 L IS USM telephoto lens. You can get yourself one from my friends at Midwest Photo Exchange by clicking the links. Questions? Ask for Sonnie. He's the Canon guy, and he is awesome.  P.S. You will never be sorry you got yourself an awesome camera and lens. The sorry is in not doing it.

Snowy Chet Baker

Warmer weather is finally on its way. It'll be a near-record low tonight in the 20's, but then they're saying it'll warm up.

I planted my snap pea plants out, several hundred of them, and I only broke two. I carefully separated them from their thickets in the long narrow planters where I'd started them in mid-March and set them out on Saturday, March 30. Only to cover them completely with straw, because night temperatures would dip to the 20's from then until now. I watered them in and told them to wait. And they have. They're perky and green under the straw, waiting for the warm, enjoying the filtered sun and maybe even the frigid nights. Peas are tough.

So it seems that I'd better get the last of these snowy Chet Baker shots posted before winter is finally in the rear view mirror.

Golly, I love taking pictures of that dog in his red coat in the snow.

I'm seeing more dog photo web sites, devoted to art shots of dogs in various situations. A coonhound named Maddie, who balances on weird things, is adorable and obviously very patient. A border collie who hides. Very cute stuff. I suppose I could do that, if I had time. Instead I blog here. Imagine this is a  spare artsy website and I am a famous photographer. Oooh, fancy.

Sometimes I lose him for a moment.

And then he pops back out, looking for voles.

He pounces, foxlike, and sticks his head all the way into the snow.

And comes out with snowbrows.

There will never be a better Chetcoat than his Woolrich letter jacket from Target. There will never be a better dog than Chet Baker.

He is so barrel-chested that he sometimes pops the Velcro wide open and runs around looking like a Calvin Klein ad, only with a dog instead of a delicious man-child.

One sexy beast, Chet Baker is, all filled out and still in his prime at eight. I've called him to come to me and let me fasten up his jacket again, and he's running straight at me.

He loves it when I get down on my knees to take his picture, because he can come and kiss me before I struggle back to my feet. I love that, too.

With every day I treasure him more, and I have to acknowledge the great and growing chamber he occupies in my heart. 

Executive decisions are being made by my soul's CEO. Shh. Also basking being done.

More snowy Bacon anon.

Chet Baker is Three!

Today is Chet Baker's third birthday. I can't believe it. Three years ago today, I was absolutely popping with the knowledge that our puppy had been born. I had thought to keep the secret until Christmas, but as Chili Bean's pregnancy wore on, I popped, too, and told the kids, and they were in on the e-mails flying between me and Jane about the labor and birth. Only two puppies were born, and Chet was the big one. We had second pick of the litter, which meant that we got whichever puppy the first-comers didn't pick. It was a glorious and life-altering day when Jane e-mailed to tell us that the fat puppy with less white on his face was ours.

In honor of Chet's birthday, I will post a series of SnowDog photos. They seem to capture Chet's vitality and humor, as well as his blinding speed. This is a pretty shot. The conditions were tough, with very low light, so the pictures are blurry, but I like the strength and thrust of this pose.

He left a rooster tail of snow wherever he sped. I love this photo, the composition with the green toboggan.

A Santa's beard of snow on my puppeh as he banks around a turn.
Reveling in his speed, he schusses around the garage. He's his own canine snowmobile.
Joy shows in every line as he picks up speed and comes right at the photographer.The next three photos show Baker in full SnowGoogle.

Nobody grins like a Boston terrier.


Wait! There might be mice under the snow.
It's a good excuse to catch my breath, anyway.
The difference between Baker at three and Baker at one is that his snow-frisking periods are vastly shorter now. Boston terriers were not blessed when the Lord handed out fur coats. Chet has about the cold tolerance I do, stark naked. It wasn't long before the photo session was over; Chet skidded to a halt at the front door and stood, shivering, waiting for me to let him in.
I draped my parka over him and he settled down for a long winter's nap.
Happy birthday, sweet Chet Baker. We love you, Miracle Dog.