Chet Baker, Alpha Dog

Homecoming night for Phoebe. Chet Baker's 12th birfday, December 12, 2016.  She puts him through his tricks. Or tries to. Prepare to be amazed!  For me, the highlight of this video is not Chet's prowess at tricks.

 It's the oinking. Turn your volume up. He oinks when he sits up (0:17) and again when he flops down to play dead (0:45).



The dog whisperers among you will note that Chet is not the most deferential of dogs. He was the dominant pup in a two-pup litter, nearly twice the size of his sibling.

photo by Jane Streett, Boston Terrer Breeder Emeritus Extraordinaire

Hard to believe our little chunker ever fit in someone's palm but there you have it: newborn Bacon!

 And a bit later, when he was coming into his Bakertude:

photo by Jane Streett, Boston Terrer Breeder Emeritus Extraordinaire

When a pup starts out life as the dominant one in the litter, he can be expected to cop an attitude with people, too. The point being, Chet has been a bossy guy from the get-go. On the day we went to pick him up, he stood down Liam, just five years old, barking and even growling at him. Even at 9 weeks of age, he took a look at our little family, figured I was Alpha, Phoebe, 9 years old, was #2 in line; and Liam was destined only for domination. Chet wanted Liam's place. He wanted to be #3, and while I was at her kitchen table, still going over care instructions with his breeder, Jane Streett, Chet was already working on that hierarchy. We piled in the car, kept him in his pet carrier for about one mile, and then he came out to sleep on a delighted Phoebe's lap for the duration of the trip. "I was the happiest person in the world," Phoebe remembers. When he'd wake up, his little flop ears would prick, and he'd bark and growl in his ridiculous puppeh voice at Liam!! The audacity of that babydog!

 I chuckle to think of it now, but I remember wondering what we'd signed onto. I'm sure Liam did too!  Jane told me to teach Liam how to roll Chet over on his back and hold him down "until he goes limp as spaghetti." With some strong correction, the barking and growling stopped, but Chet freely engaged in dominance mounting of his blonde brother until he had an attitudectomy (highly recommended for bossy boy dogs).  Oh this photo. See how Liam's protecting his wee little hands? :) Just good practice around puppies, but especially around tiny sock-sweatered Baker.

It got better. Chet quickly became Liam's living teddeh bear. 

 Even now, though, I see traces of that #1 Puppy. He does things with the kids he'd never try with me. H can be seen dissing Phoebe throughout this video: lunging for the treat, storming the castle in the rudest way, and even giving her a little snarly-poo at the very end (1:27), when she reaches to grab hold of him. He's a naughty boy, copping the same attitude as a grampa as he did as a pup. 

He's not perfect, never has been, because I'm far from a perfect dog trainer. But we love him, warts, oinks, emanations, snarls and all. He's 99.9% wonderful. 

Also a major babe magnet.

Chet Baker is Twelve! His Present is Phoebe.

It's been awhile. There's just something about a ten-day trip, putting 2010 miles on the Subaru, giving three book talks in three states, driving home in one 14-hour go, having one day to unpack, then driving two hours to the airport to pick up Phoebe (YAYYYYYY) after not having seen her for six months, while trying to pick up the house (forget actually cleaning it), getting a handle on Christmas prep (hoping there are still decent trees left on the lot), and shopping (gift certificates are so ehh)

that puts a crimp in the blogmuscle.

By popular demand, here is a video of Chet Baker's ecstatic reunion with his long-lost sister Phoebe, triumphantly returned from San Diego and then Panama. It happened on his TWELFTH BIRFDAY which was 12/12/16!! Oh!!

 She wakes him with a touch, he gets up, says a perfectly acceptable dog hello (in his view, at least), and jumps up to kiss...me. I am not crowing about this. I'm sending him KISS PHOEBE pictures as hard as I can. But The Bacon is a Mether's boy, and the great significance of this homecoming and the importance of supplying to his adoring fans a video of him smothering Phoebe with kisses is simply and sweetly lost on him. That's OK. He's Chet Baker. He's perfeck just as he is.

Fear not. She extracts lovin' from that dog pretty much all day long.

Witness the Boston Terrier Melt: 

No Boston terrier will leave a beloved person unkissed for long. That's his tongue, not hers, although the possibility that it's hers evokes a snort.

Chet is especially amorous at night. He brings his favorite bones to bed, chews a little while, then starts smoochin'. Some of our favorite times are around bedtime, when the kids come in, flop on the bed, and tell stories while Chet gnaws his bones and antlers, then smooches, then chews some more.

  Read whatever you want into his dreamy expression here. Adoration? Forbearance?  He's a blank slate. Also a shameless, newly turned 12, pink pot-bellied piglet.

 Bill captured this classic Homecoming Night shot of Phoebe, Chet and his dratted paparazzi. He's breaking the Third Wall with a look worthy of Jack Benny. Are you getting this, Daddeh? This is ridiculous. Click on the photo for full google-eye glory.

Liam and I drove up to Columbus to retrieve our Panama Princess on Monday, arriving home around midnight. She'd had a 7-hour layover in Miami (Thanks, American Airlines!) when she could have been home eating strawberries and arugula. Ah well, she's home. And it's so wonderful to have her home, here, safe, warm, sleeping a lot, eating all her favorite foods, watching Cupcake Wars and Catfish with Wiam.

On the way up, we stopped at The Anderson's, my favorite store of all. It has everything from bulk peanuts to flowerpots to bathmats to mini-recliners that I'm not going to buy for 6'1" Liam with his Size 12 shoes (on 12/12/16, Chet's 12th birfday!), no matter how he implores. He makes me laugh. I love love love roadtrips with lanky, hilarious Liam. 

There was nobody happier to see Phoebe than Liam, and nobody happier to see Liam than Phoebe. 

This perfect reunion was almost as overwhelming as her luggage. This is the sum total of her possessions for four months in Panama. I couldn't have done it so portably. 

But enough of luggage. I can't stop looking at the love. Phoebe was 3 1/2 when Liam came along. She was old enough to be ready to welcome him, to adopt him, to love him without jealousy and completely without reservation. By the time he was 4 months old, she told me she wanted to marry him. Without going into too much detail, I explained why that wasn't a very good idea, but I assured her that she could love him all her life.

And she does. And he loves her right back.

Phoebe's summer in San Diego, interning at Scripps Institution of Oceanography, and her four months studying and traveling in Panama with a SIT (School of International Training) program, have given us back a changed person. She glows with newfound confidence, independence, and a glorious ferocity. Living, traveling, working and coping with bright, motivated, driven women from all over the U.S has bolstered her confidence in her own powers.  Having homestays with Panamanian families has given her perspective on just how privileged Americans are, and an empathy for the less fortunate that little else could. 

We are grateful and blessed.

Baker and The Bun

Chet Baker is as sweet as ever. I look for the silver lining in his going deaf, and I've come up with two. The first is minor. You can sneak a snack wrapped in cellophane without bringing him out of a dead sleep to dog you for a bite. Big deal, I know. I'm trying to look on the bright side here.

The second is good. He's no longer reduced to a quivering, tail-tucked shadow when it thunders. In fact, he'll sit out in the front yard enjoying the cool breeze as a thunderstorm approaches.  He hasn't gone downstairs and burrowed under the kivers in a long time. And that's pretty sweet, to see him unafraid. I guess he's never connected big dark clouds with thunderstorms.

Have a snorgle of soft otter-throat, with essence of fresh linen and ferret. Mmm. Made for indulgence.

Once a major threat to the cottontails that are attempting to cover the earth this year, Baker is now a kind of plaything to them. They enjoy playing Chicken, allowing insanely close approach by their one-time nemesis. 

There are three baby bunnies we see regularly in the yard this summer, and I can't tell them apart, so I call them all Bun. I greet them cheerily, talk to them as I garden, and they have responded by being completely unafraid of me and my little black and white minion.

This was my first encounter with Garage Bun. I was about a yard away as (s)he nibbled Clo-Clo Puffs and met my gaze as her little jaws clomped away. Charmed, I'm sure.

Same Bun,  to judge by the tiny star on its forehead, probably a week later. They're growing like weeds.  

Bun hops up the sidewalk. Awww.

That Bacon just doesn't suspect there's a Bun there.

I'm laughing and pointing, and trying to get Bacon and Bun in the same frame, trying to tell him there's a good chase opportunity being missed, to no avail. The yellow arrow is pointing right at Bun. And Bacon is thinking his own thoughts, probably something like, "Dunner time is 1 hour 13 minutes and 22 seconds away."

Until The Bacon spies The Bun. Ears come forward on both parties. Muscles tense.  I can feel them both anticipating the chase, the moment both have been waiting for. Note the upturned white tail on Bun. She's ready for fun. I hear the low, piglike snort Bacon makes when he's got a chasee in his sights, right before he unleashes Black Lightning. Game on!

For your amusement, Baker and The Bun, in another redonkulous iPhone ZickFlick. Same soundtrack as all of them: Me cackling.

Bacon likes to trot back and take a good snuff at the spot where he last saw Bun sitting. It's as close as he's going to come to having her in his jaws, I expect. That little Cylindrical Pig can still move it on out, but he's no match for the springy elasticity and lightning reflexes of Bun.

I just got back from a week in Arizona last evening, and I swear, Bun ran out of the Rudbeckia as I drove up; (s)he came out to greet me. She seemed genuinely happy to see me, to hear my ridiculous patter as I walked right up to and past her. I've always respected Bun's space, and I try not to push her to run or change what she's doing. She's happy to be Baker's mechanical rabbit, his reason for patrolling the garden beds. And I'm happy to have her. Good rabbit fencing around the vegetable garden makes good neighbors. 

Phoebe Comes Home. Chet Baker Smells Pizza.

Phoebe came home from Maine last night. We picked her up at Port Columbus Airport and took her on a very quick Christmas clothes shopping rampage at Easton Town Center, then to Pies and Pints, where Thai, Hot Mama and Chicken Gouda pies were rapidly consumed. Dad had driven up, so I took the wheel for the two hour drive home. 

Through yawns, Phoebe said she lives farther from an airport than anyone she knows. Yep. Two solid hours to the nearest flugplatz in any direction. There's a flip side to that, that includes a yard bird list that just hit 194 (more on that later!) and bobcats walking down her driveway in broad daylight.

It's no secret that she misses us; the phone conversations build up toward the end of each term. But we all know she misses a certain little black dog most of all during her months-long residences at Bowdoin. In this silly and sweet little video, she's walking in to "surprise" Chet Baker after four months away. 

Animals are nothing if not honest, and the main thing on Chet's mind is that he ALWAYS gets his dunner at 5:30 pm, and here it was 10:45 pm, and pardon me, isn't that stretching it a bit? He lines up in the Feed Me position and woofs hopefully at me. Why are you not fetching my dunner immediately?  He knows something's up because we're all standing around looking at him as Phoebe ninja's around the house to the back deck and enters via the living room. 

Oh Look! My beloved sister Phoebe is home! And there's also pizza! If I let her hug me, how can I beg for pizza? I will not let her catch me. Phoebe! Pizza! Pizza! Phoebe!

Eventually the primate's aching need for ventral-ventral contact can no longer be denied, and the longsuffering canid, for whom a quick sniff and wag is ample greeting, can only submit, with a sheepish Boston terrier grin and visions of dunner dancing in his little round head. When the huggin' and kissin' subsided, he got roast chicken on his kibble. No pizza. Slept in Phoebe's bed. It's a good life for a fine little doggeh. 

She's home. Let the wild, sleep in, take hikes, hug dog, eat Mom and Dad's cooking, watch Disney videos with your brother, non-rumpus commence!

Phoebe at 19: A Look Back

I remember when Phoebe's baseball fixation emerged: at a Pirates vs.  Indians game in Cleveland. She just absorbed it like a little sponge, and she wanted more. It was something about seeing baseball live, in a stadium with lots of cheering fans, at night, with the lights. Something set a hook that night, and she'd be forever enthralled. June 29, 2011.

                 
Phoebe had just turned 15 in July 2011 when a mysterious box arrived in the mail. I had just gotten my first iPhone, and didn't really know how to run it. By mistake, I had my camera set to Video. Oops. I couldn't figure out how to get it back to Photo in time, so I made one of my very first videos of her opening the box. From the very beginning, Pirates centerfielder Andrew McCutchen has held a special place in her heart. Her room is full of McCutchen memorabilia to this day. So it seemed only right and proper to get her a signed baseball. Our dear friend Mimi, cousin to the delightful Pirates commentator Greg Brown, engineered it and had it sent to our house!




The backstory on this video is cool. It was so sweet of Greg Brown to send that signed ball to Phoebe, and we were so grateful, that I sent him a thank-you email with a link to the video within. Well, Greg went and found Cutch and showed him this video, and he wrote me back to tell me that Andrew got "just as emotional as Phoebe" when he saw it.

As I'm writing this, the sounds of an Allstar game are coming from the living room.  Phoebe's explaining something to Liam about how players get selected for Allstars games. Something about leagues and standings and I don't know what. She's like a walking baseball encyclopedia, and the rest of us (Bill excepted) can only look things up.

We went to two Pirates games on two successive weekends this July, in honor of Phoebe's 19th birthday. We went because she is home this summer and we sense this may be her last one here. She was adamant that she didn't want to be at PNC Park on her birthday, July 11, though, because if the Pirates happened to lose to the Cardinals on that night of all nights, she might never recover. So we watched the July 11 game at home, and it was a bloody slugfest with a thoroughly nasty and (we can only surmise) legally blind umpire who made not one but TWO hideously wrong calls that robbed the Pirates of any hope of prevailing. I have never, ever seen Phoebe as outraged, furious and inconsolable as she was when that happened. But her beloved Bucs clawed their way back and beat the Cardinals anyway with a walkoff homer by none other than Andrew McCutchen in the fourteenth torturous inning. What a birthday present, delivered well after midnight.  Figures that Cutch would have a hand in Phoebe's best birthday present, twice in a row.

The night of July 12, when the Pirates beat the Cardinals with a line drive by Gregory Polanco, whom we saw play in Charleston WV when he was on the Pirates' farm team. He looked like a baby giraffe then. He doesn't any more. We stayed at PNC on the night of July 12 until the last fan left, just basking in the glory of the win. It was the most fabulous game. Here, the two biggest Pirates fans on the planet share a victory whoop. We drove all the way home on fumes, arriving at 3:40 AM. It was worth every yawn. Plus, we couldn't afford a Pittsburgh hotel. That dough's going straight to Bowdoin.

I have Phoebe to thank for helping me understand what baseball is all about, for modeling sports fandom for someone who truly started out without a clue how to care. I get it, Fee. And I love the Pirates, too, as much as the unwashed can love a sports team. 

Oh, that ball in the 2011 video? Cutch has signed it now three times. I'm sure he enjoys seeing Phoebe grow up as much as we do. Needless to say, he remembers "Miss Phoebe" and gives her a warm greeting and a big smile each time he sees her. Well, who wouldn't?

The other great love in Phoebe's life (besides baseball) was not able to come visit for her birthday as he has the last two years. Sad face. So we felt we had to put on a little extra DOG for her this year. But psst, don't worry, I'm taking her to Boston with me when I give three talks July 21, 22 and 23 (see left sidebar for details).

Chet Baker loves to kiss Phoebe. He kisses her so much sometimes he gets a little carried away and nibbles her. We call it nibble kissing.

Sometimes he gets REALLY carried away and it hurts just a bit! You never know what that dog is going to do!

Mostly, though, he kind of collapses around her now. Resistance is futile.

That little girl has grown up. Hey 19. You're beautiful! Happy birthday! OK! I'm done now!

MASSACHUSETTS ZICK ALERT 

Tues. July 21, Cambridge : Mount Auburn Cemetery's Story Chapel, 6 pm. "Situational Awareness and the Art of Disappearing"  I'm over the moon to be speaking at this sacred place that saved me over the five years when I had to live in the city. You know, to get that book learnin'. Click here for details.

Weds. July 22, the Town of Harvard: Fruitlands, 7 pm.  Fruitlands Reads Author Lecture, "Letters From Eden" An all-new talk based on the concept of Eden, and gratitude. Click here for details.  

Thurs. July 23. Topsfield Fair, 11:30 am. Down to Earth: Massachusetts Nusery and Landscape Association Annual Conference. "Personal Habitat: The Bird-friendly Backyard," an all-new talk about making your yard an Eden for birds, and for you. Click here for details.

The Melting Dog

Quite the mixed bag lately, from the fun of scamming Scammy straight to bobcat heartbreak. Whiplash: a hallmark of my life and, it seems, this blog. Oh, that was good fun, scamming Scammy. A Keystone Cop surround with blaring sirens and kleig lights would have been even nicer, but at least I wasted Scammy's time. Everything about it was fun except that little call to the home phone. Ergh. As usual, I'm smart, but not smart enough.

Thank you for your kind and empathetic responses to the last bobcat post. So many kind thoughts, so many dear people all aching right along with me. Maybe Murr Brewster (unsurprisingly) said it best: "Takes a big heart to be a wildlife rehabilitator. And we all know what happens to big hearts."

Heartbreak aside, I am convinced that here in Ohio at least we are in the midst of a bobcat renaissance such as has never been seen. I remember when I worked for The Nature Conservancy in Connecticut climbing a rock ledge to look at a bobcat den area. It was like being allowed to open the case and handle a Faberge egg. And now here I am in Ohio, 22 years later, and I see bobcat sign often enough that I've added it to the Frequently Encountered list in my mind's encyclopedia. I'm starting to lose track of the animals I've seen. Let's see...the last one I saw was December 15, 2014, a small one feeding at a deer carcass, making seven for Ohio, if you count the trailcam female in the driveway in July 2014 as "seen." I've even seen a black one, a stump-tailed summer wonder racing across my very own road in front of my bike (#6, July 2014, just before Corey got the trailcam shot in our driveway).

 Can a hunting season be far behind? Of course not. We'll deal with that when it comes up. I may sound cynical, but I'm sure that somewhere in the halls of ODNR, the proposal's already being cooked. Take it off the state threatened list, and it's time to hunt it. The idea of a person going out to hunt bobcat actually makes me laugh. You're going to have to be vewwy, vewwy smart, vewwy, vewwy quiet, and vewwy, vewwy wucky. Then you can hope you get a vewwy bwief gwimpse. Not so sure about getting a shot. Good wuck with that, Mr. Fudd.

Enough of that. I would now like to show you The Melting Dog. This is Chet Baker's newest "trick." It took Phoebe years to teach him this difficult maneuver. Gravity is its main component. Turn your sound up, so you don't miss the oink of contentment as he lands gently on the tarmac of love.

Yes, Chet Baker fixes us when we're hurting, he of the sweet heavy weight and the popcorn paws.

His gentle touch: so healing.

Chet Baker: Training Humans

This dog has us all figgered out. He knows that he gets away with about anything by being himself, which is to say impossibly cute. Most mornings, I find him lying crosswise, right through the middle of the bed, taking up the room of 1.5 humans. And what does he get for it? He gets called Sugar Peanut, and he gets a kiss on his cold little gumdrop nose.

I could pretty much run video and get good stuff every time somebody walks into the kitchen, because wheedling treats from people is what Chet Baker does best. Last evening was no exception. I made my usual rambling pointless dopey dog video. Brevity, I am not your soul. 

But something really cool happened in this little video. I saw Chet employing what amounts to clicker training on his (admittedly rather slow to learn) Daddeh. Chet was consciously giving Bill positive reinforcement for doing the right thing (making motions to pour a little bowl of milk for Chet). And he consciously avoided reinforcing Bill for doing the wrong thing (pouring the milk in the sink). 

When Bill makes motions toward giving Chet what he wants (a wee bowl of milk), Chet woofs and wags. Bill is encouraged to do the right thing.

When Bill makes motions toward pouring the milk in the sink, Chet sits stock-still. Effectively, he's ignoring the behavior he doesn't want. Bill is not encouraged for doing the wrong thing.

Right there, this dog is a better trainer than most of we humans are. No wonder we scramble to do the right thing in Chet's estimation, which is to give him LOTS OF TREATS.

No wonder he is The Cylindrical Pig.

Better keep running, you little rasher of BACON.

 

Sucking it in. We all do it.

Thanks to Murr Brewster  for inspirato. If you haven't read Don't Shoot the Dog: The New Art of Teaching and Training by Karen Pryor, well, you should. Right, Murr? Best part: it doesn't just work for dogs. It works on people, too. Ideally.

How to Tattoo Your Dog

I'm not much for looking at blog stats, because by and large they're depressing. Readership is falling off for most everyone, even the most persistant and skilled bloggers, and it's easy to see why, when there are so many other Netty things vying for attention. Like Kim Kardashian's butt. I mean, really. Why would you want to read about owl angels, abandoned churches and one-legged bluejays (coming soon) when you can be aghast and amazed at that? That is something special.

If I've figured out one thing, it's that Liam, Phoebe and Chet Baker save my blog. I can be puttering along with my flars and my abandoned church and my hayrolls and deliquescing barns and my dearly beloved regular readers are happy enough with that, but deploy the redhead or the towhead and interest spikes. Looking at them, I can't imagine why. Not much charisma there.

Load both barrels with, say, the redhead and the dog, and Nelly bar the door. We blow up the Internet like Kim Kardashian's butt. Well, OK, we're still counting our hits in the hundreds, not the millions, but it beats toddling off into the Internet sunset sucking our thumbs.

Am I pandering for blog hits? You bet your bippy I am. I will do about anything to save this blog. I've been posting for nine years now--practically Chet Baker's whole life--and I'm highly invested in keeping this blog going.  Rather than allow Facebook to suck its will to live, I have forced Facebook to support my blog. Facebook has given me a way to spoon-feed my posts to a large audience, and when people share those posts, good things happen here on JZ on Blogspot. The key has been not to allow myself to fall into the lassitude of, "Ehh, I'm putting out entertaining content on Facebook, why should I blog any more?" If I've got something good, I save it for the blog, make people come here for it.

As I see it, all I'm doing is recording life as it goes on here on Indigo Hill, and if I have the ability to figure out how to turn that into an amateurish video and share it, and if that humble product can charm and amuse a thousand people, that's a beautiful thing. More beautiful, IMHO, than a steatopygic protuberance on a person with nothing better to offer. I can't change the collective appetite for junk food and junk content. I know that. But I can make a video of my daughter and her boyfriend tattooing the dog.

  Happy New Year!!

Phoebe Comes Home

Phoebe had it all planned out. She hadn't been home since the end of August, and here it was Christmas, and she wanted to surprise Chet Baker. Surprise him she did. She also bewitched, bothered and befuddled the little gemmun.

Speaking of the Three B's, my iPhone chose the exact moment Phoebe walked in the living room to tell me it had no free space with which to record a video. Or so much as a photo. So everything you see here is Bill's work. Thank you, B.

This is a video portrait of a Boston terrier, amazed. Seeing a person he loves very much, whom he wasn't expecting, just walking into his living room after four months of goneness. He's just flabbergasted. All he can think to do is sniff her over, make sure she's real. Kiss her. Punch her with his front feet and kiss her good. And then GO GET A PRETZEL TO CHEW ON!! This is Chet's happy thing, chewing something while people laugh and talk all around him. She's home! I need something to chew on.

  Phoebe seems to want him to make a bigger deal over her, but Chet's never been a howler or a crybaby. He's a gentleman, through and through, and he has a certain gentle, quiet dignity about him. There's a point at which he kisses her, then sits with his back to her. That's a dog's way of saying, "I know you. I trust you. I will protect you. You and me against the world. We're a team. And you may scratch my backus."

Even when she swoops him up while he is trying to chew a pretzel. He continues chewing the pretzel.

Even when she chews HIM.

Have you ever tried a Boston terrier? Many parts are edible. 

She flops down on her great big bed, for the next month having a whole room to herself. Life is good for us all. That thing a-layin' right there is my big Christmas present.

Chet Baker's Birfday Pie

Once a year, on his birfday, Chet Baker gets a special meal on fine Portmeirion china at the Big People's Table. Often it's roast beef with gravy and green beans.

Chicken pot pie is about his favorite thing of all. On his tenth birthday (December 12, 2014), Chet got a slice of pot pie.

As always, I am narrating his every move like an idiot. Like he's some canine Charlie McCarthy. Oh well. I can't help it. I'm a Crazy Dog Lady now, have been since December 2004, and it's just getting worse all the time.

I hope you enjoy this video half as much as Chet enjoys eating at the kitchen table. Please pardon my cackle.

              

Chet Baker's Trick Show

At age nine, Chet Baker is out to disprove the adage about old dogs and new tricks. Phoebe has just taught him how to sit up, a neat trick for a long-bodied dog like him. 

Liam taught him how to high-five.

Phoebe convinced him he could sit up without having his hand held.

It didn't take him long to figure out what we wanted. He's a highly trainable little gemmun. 

Being a natural ham, he embellishes the show with piglike grunts and a captivating smile. 

Enjoy this little glimpse of the Cutest Doggeh Of Any Age, Ever.

And please excuse my own piglike grunts and snorts, done directly into the iPhone mic.

Congratulations to Phoebe, Bowdoin Class of 2018!! Maine, here she come. Says she loves winter.

OK then. We'll come pick you up in June.

Whoa. This is Post # 1802, since December 2005.

Wanna follow Chet Baker on Facebook? Go here for a daily dose of silly.

Chet Baker, Boston Terrier (Entertainer)  on Facebook

xo jz

Chet Baker and the Dragon

Chet Baker was very surprised when our new friend Joe brought a two-headed dragon, which had been Liam's, up from the basement Land of Misfit Toys. Joe set it up in the hallway and Chet barked and barked, then came in close to sniff it and determine if it was real. He gave it a few test nips and then grabbed it by one of its throats. He really meant to kill it, if it was alive, because it looked dangerous, and there were little kids around.

This video shows the ensuing struggle between Chet and Joe, who wanted his dragon back all in one piece.



Surely a Boston terrier's idea of unmitigated fun: Snarling, tugging, fighting to gain possession of something he can destroy. At nine, Chet Baker is still a serious barrel of monkeys. But rest assured--for all the snarling, he's never, ever gonna bite that little guy.

Cute Dog Video: The Rattly Sigh

Although I am a card-carrying Crazy Dog Lady, I do not actually have that much experience with dogs other than my own. We had a dachshund named Volks when I was growing up who I loved without bounds, a great, smart, fat, slightly humorless standard x mini who was inclined to snarl over his food, but who could howl along to Edelweiss to bring a tear to your eye. I don't remember his giving The Rattly Dog Sigh of Contentment, and I remember a lot about him.

The key to great wildlife cinematography, and my efforts certainly qualify, is to Anticipate the Behavior of Your Subject. This is a classic setup, and as Marty Stouffer knows, setups are the key to great wildlife cinematography. You simply put the lynx and the bunny in the same chain-link enclosure and go!

Or the bear cub and the mule deer fawn. You know the drill. Because it's hard to just happen upon a bear cub and a mule deer fawn and get footage of them engaged in rollicking play without a chain-link fence, some long sticks and some compressed air hoses. That's our Wild America!

Apologies to Marty, but when I was ten years old I was already throwing things at the TV screen and smacking my little proto-prognathous Science Chimp brow in exasperation at the particular combinations of baby animals he tossed together in the name of wildlife cinematography. The rollicking happy comedic musical score made me want to hurt something. Still does.

But I digress. Chet Baker, Boston Terrier is the star of this particular show. As in most Chet Baker videos, nothing really happens. You looove it.

So tell me true, dear readers...does your dog heave a four-part Rattly Dog Sigh of Contentment when properly tucked in?