Chet Baker's Birthday Spanking

Chet Baker chases cats. That's pretty much all you need to know. When he sees a cat he lights out like a black bullet and that cat gets gone, under a barn or car or up a tree.

We run several miles of a country road near our home that has cats all along it. Chet LOVES that road.

His first stop is a big pole barn full of cats. He runs round and round it and the cats scatter. I finally get him back and we go on to the next house. There is a brown and white pied cat there who has a loyal friend, a kind brindle German shepherd. She really is a wonderful dog, and she's been extremely tolerant of Chet's escapades. The first time they met he was chasing her cat friend, and instead of pulverizing him she just wagged her tail and touched noses with him. Wow. I was petrified for no reason. 

They've talked and sniffed and met four or five times, always without incident. 

But on this day, Chet surprised and startled her as he streaked right past her in hot pursuit of her cat friend. And, being a shepherd, she went to defend it. I don't think she had time even to realize who he was.

As Chet chased the cat under the latticework of an above-ground swimming pool, the shepherd grabbed him twice from behind.

She punched three big deep holes in his back and thigh before I could scream CHET NO NO NO!!

So caught up was he in the pursuit he didn't even seem to register he'd been punctured. The shepherd's back was up and her eyes took on a queer yellow light and I did not like the way she was looking at him after she'd pulled back from her attack.

I stroked and soothed them both, rubbed her brisket and told her I didn't blame her one bit for defending her home and hearth and friend. And I picked Chet up and carried him until we were past her personal space. I felt bad for both of them. 

Chet and I turned for home. He was running fine, but blood was oozing from the holes, and I was worried about the really deep one in his right thigh.

So we stopped at Jay's and he came out with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and rinsed the wounds. "She got him pretty good there. Might need to close that one up." I agreed. It was nice to have a farmer look at him and clean him up. I was pretty upset. This is Jay with Chet in better weather and happier times. He loves Chet, always sings "My Funny Valentine" when we appear.

I took him home and washed his wounds and rinsed them with more peroxide and Betadine. It was clear something would have to be done about the big puncture. So I called Dr. Lutz and she worked him in around 5 pm.

She took him in the back and Liam and I, waiting anxiously, heard a single yelp from the OR. We heard it over the ridiculous yelping of a crybaby Cairn terrier who had nothing wrong with him except being anxious. Dr. Lutz told us that was when she had to remove an incorrectly placed staple. Chet's such a good patient. Won't bite, won't snarl, stands quietly while they do whatever they have to. A gentleman. At least to humans. Awful to cats and most dogs.

He slept the first two days, lulled by Tramidol and lots of kisses. 

Two days later, he showed a lot less bruising and pain. I took him off the painkillers, but he'll be on antibiotics until the staples come out in another week.

Liam is grossed out by the staples. I've gotten used to them.

He got his Googlespunk back on Saturday (this happened on a Wednesday around noon). Saturday was snowy and he went all humpty and raced circles around the house. He still didn't want to go for a run, though. I understood, and let him rest.

 This morning (Sunday December 8), he finally leapt up when I asked him if he wanted to go for a run. He even suffered his coat. Good choice, because it was 21 degrees and windy. In this picture he's very very cold, as we're just coming out of the driveway, and he's making that continuous "I'm cold" rasp in his throat.
We ran five miles. That's a pretty quick recovery if you ask me. Good work, Dr. Lutz!

 

 He posed for an excellent portrait atop a haybale in the snow. And I marveled that he's made it nine years without anything more serious than this happening to him.

Speaking of which...today Chet Baker turns nine. And what better way to celebrate this wonderful little doggeh than be being thankful that he's still here with us?

Than folding him in my arms and kissing the top of his apple head?

I truly don't know what I would do without him. Yes, Chetfans and Dog People. I'll be more careful with him. But these things happen when you live big, when you run 22 miles a week with your pup. I wouldn't have it any other way. We go together like tomatoes and cilantro, like kibble and chicken livers. He's my guy. The Best Doggeh in the Universe.

Happy birthday, CHET BAKER!!