The Saga of Baxter

For those of you keeping score at home, Baxter has now cost $4,400 in the last seven months. Thankfully, I've had many people donate money to his cause and help with $625 worth of his bills.

In case you missed what's been happening, in April (end of) he'd started having nose bleeds. He had an xray, rhinoscopy, and blood work. A few months after that he started puking, and puking, and then began bleeding from him bum. I called out of work and rushed him to the emergency vet clinic where he stayed overnight on an IV drip (they say it was something viral).

Most recently, he had this on his leg:

We referred to it as his sausage. The vet took one look at it and said, "Yea, that's going to need to come off." She didn't touch it or anything. He was brought in for surgery the following morning and has since looked like this:

He rams things straight on, hard enough we have to put his cone of shame on a few times a day, but he's recovering well, which is nice.

Just before Thanksgiving, I'd like to say that I'm thankful to have Baxter with me, still. 2013 was rough on both of us, but things are always looking up :)

Kyla

I'd been considering getting another dog for Baxter for awhile. He loves other dogs, like a lot. Then I was with Damien, and he wanted a dog, and he pulled into the parking lot at my job and I met this little brown pit bull.

Kyla (front) and Baxter (standing)

She was so beautiful, the wind literally slipped from my chest.

Because we weren't sure how Baxter would handle her, or her him, we agreed it'd be a trial run and took her home. They met outside in a field, they sniffed, then continued to pee on the surrounding bushes.

In the next couple of days, Kyla ended up with a puncture wound in her ear from a fight, and she continued to try to eat Baxter randomly. Because it wasn't consistent fighting, I didn't worry. They seemed to get along (one would lay on one side of me, the other on the other). Finally, I got brave, went to my landlord, and she said, "You're a good tenant. I trust your decisions, even if it's a pit bull."

Damien and I broke up about three months ago. Though Kyla was to be his dog, he left her with me without any of her medical history.

I refer to her as the little tramp, as the red-headed-step-child, as the bad dog, etc. But she sleeps on my bed every night, and though she's the smallest person in the household, she manages to take up a majority of the bed. Baxter has been demoted to the floor (though pressed up against the bed, and my arm slings off the bed around him).

I finally had some extra money, and took them to a vet today. I had to respond "I don't know any of her medical history," and was almost immediately frustrated.

They like to lay together.

"What are you here for?" he asked.

"A heartworm test and vaccines."

I held Kyla as he drew blood. Because I haven't known her long, I wasn't sure if she'd try to bite either of us, but she just stood and allowed it to happen. Within minutes, we got the test back.

It was positive.

It was hard to breathe.

In two weeks we're getting the medication to try to start combating the heartworms. The treatment could kill her. Running could kill her. Moving too quickly could kill her. She could very well die before the treatment gets here (I'm hoping this statement is an overreaction).

I'm bracing for the following weeks hoping that everything will turn out okay. I'm bracing for the chance it may not, and my little family may be back down to Baxter and me. I'm bracing for how Baxter may respond if things go wrong. I'm bracing for the risk that Baxter may have also been exposed.

She really loves guarding the bathroom when I'm in it...
Weirdo.

It's doubly hard because in all the ways Baxter is a really good dog, Kyla is a really bad dog (he doesn't go potty in the house, she does. He doesn't steal food, she does, etc). And in the ways Baxter is a really bad dog, Kyla is a good dog (She always comes when calls, he wags his tail and continues ignoring me. She plays in the water, he stands to the side, etc.) The two balance each other out. They've stopped separating their food and water and started drinking out of the same dishes, sometimes at the same time together.

I don't know what's going to happen and it terrifies me.

At this point, I'm just praying for the best.

Z is for Zest and Zeal

Because yesterday's post was a little sad and bittersweet, I figured I'd cheer you guys up.

Baxter has a tendency to remind me that life is full of zest, and I should meet it head on, zealously. To close up this A to Z Challenge, here are some take home, life lessons from my best friend:

*It's okay to hit snooze. More than once. But after a few times, you have to get out of bed and go potty.

*It's okay to steal someone else's food when they're not looking. If they ask or accuse, just hang your head real low and look sad. They'll forgive you and probably replenish your food bowl.

The last good snowfall of 2013.
Bax is the little black ball in the center.

*Water is the only drink you ever really need.

*Cigarettes are yucky, and so are drugs.

*Enjoy a good snowfall. Run around, make fresh tracks, even if it's midnight. 

*It's okay to slip your collar and run off and freak your family out. Just remember to stay safe and return home.

*Be excited to be home, especially after you've been gone for a long amount of time. This is your place. Be comfortable here. Be excited to be with the people you love.

*Remember the joy of a car ride. I think a lot of us take it for granted, but Baxter loves to have his head somewhat out the widow, or looking right through the dashboard from the backseat. Try to find things you've never seen before.

I've always thought the car ride
is the same as a roller coaster to him

*Take a minute and just enjoy the sunlight. As Spring and Summer come in to full
swing, Baxter loves just sitting outside. Not sniffing or running around, just getting his tan on. Breathe in fresh air. Smell flowers. Enjoy the small things.

*No matter how big or small, or what age you are, it's okay to be a lapdog your entire life.

*Be excited. Be excited for friends, and family, and other things you may not understand (like cats and other dogs). Listen when someone wants to talk. Cuddle up to someone when they're sad. Most of all, be there, and don't be there because you feel obligated.

*Be brave. Don't be afraid to stand up and growl for the things you'd be willing to protect. Don't go to sleep until everyone else is safely in bed. 

He's not tied up in this picture.
He's just waiting for me.

There are a million other things I could tell you I've learned from him, and you guys know that's true. But just remember to enjoy the small things, like going outside, reading a book in the sun, how awesome your family and friends are. Remember that days can get bad, but to a dog, as long as you're around, every day is a good day.

For those of you who just ended the challenge, congrats! We made it. For those of you who were just popping in and reading about my BFF, thank you. Thank you for giving me this chance to creatively explore my pup and my relationship with him. You guys are awesome.

Y is for Youth

They looked for the Fountain of Youth in Pirates of the Caribbean. They found it in Tuck Everlasting. But I'm afraid that in the world I live in, it doesn't exist.

I don't want to live forever. But as it is, Baxter is turning seven this summer. Sure he still acts like a puppy and runs and plays, but...the clock is ticking. He's officially considered a "senior" dog. If I tackle him wrong, he'll bite me because I've hurt his hips.

I've had a hard time dealing with the fact that Baxter will die someday. Chances are, it'll be before me, and it'll be WAY before I'm ready for him to.

So I think if I could do anything, I would find the Fountain of Youth, and slip some in Baxter's water bowl. I know I have a lot of years left with him, but I'm still bracing for it.

X is for Xenophobia

He's so cute sometimes 

For those of you who don't know, Xenophobia is the fear of strangers/strange places.

We all heard about that time my sisters were late to my graduation, walked into my house, and Baxter hid and peed himself, right? Well, it turns out, he hasn't changed all that much since then.

Sometimes, if it's not ungodly hot (or too cold) outside, I'll put Bax in my car (because he loves it) and go to work. (Don't worry, he also has his food and water bowls in the car, too.) I'll come out during my lunch break where we'll sit in the sun, and enjoy the day.

One day, my manager got my attention. "Hey, Lynne. I'm going on a smoke break, want me to let Bax out?"

Bax had met her countless times. She'd pet him, he'd lean into her, it was puppy love. "Yea, that'd be great."

About ten or so minutes later, she walked in. "Um, dude. He pushed himself against the far side of your car and wouldn't come out. I think I scared him. Go let him out."

He's all "I will growl quietly
while you walk past"

It took a minute, but it dawned on me that this is kind of Baxter's trademark. He's scared of the world unless I'm there to tell him it's okay.

When we first arrived in NC together we went to Jockey's Ridge State Park. We walked on the board walk out to the sand dunes. There were people everywhere asking to pet him. He would shove himself against me, and look at me like the approaching people were a big body of water. "It's okay," I'd tell him. Then he would slowly leave me and walk toward them.

He's gotten better the longer I've had him. If we're out and about, he'll go up to strangers and be all, "Hi, love me! LOVE ME!" But if I'm not around, typically he'll still hide like he's afraid the stranger will take him and he'll never see me again.

W is for Water Loathing

This is not Baxter.
This is my friend's awesome dog in Florida.

The scene is this: it's hot outside.

The kind of hot where you'd peel your clothes off and lay naked under a fan, but somehow the light cotton is keeping you more cool than if you were naked. So you lay in bed because it's too hot to do anything else.

You're sweating in places you didn't know existed. You have one goal: get to a large, cold, body of water.

And bring the dog, because he's panting and drooling rivers all over the floor.

You arrive at the local pool/ocean/river and you and the dog do cannonballs. You swim until your lips turn blue. You come home and the warmth that once was heat is reassuring. You crawl into bed and Fido sleeps beside you. It was a wonderful day.

***

Most dogs love water. I've seen videos of dog jumping contests (legit, people throw toys, dogs run after and leap off something like a diving board. Amazing.) When I decided to steal Baxter back, I figured we'd live on a beach. I'd get a tandem kayak. He'd ride up front, I'd paddle from the rear. When we got really ambitious, we'd paddleboard. But we'd be in the water.

He'd play fetch on the beach as the sun set. He'd swim in waves with me and smell of salt.

Instead, the reality is this:

Yep. He's standing close enough to notice it's raining
and yet not get wet. He wouldn't budge.

If it's raining Baxter will go DAYS without going potty. He will slip his collar at the mountain and seek shelter if there's a light sprinkle. He will run from ocean waves. He will manipulate his body weight when you try to give him a bath so that you and your mother will be covered in bruises until she looks at you and says, "I'm giving up. We can't do this." It will always take more than one person to bathe him.

When we lived in Gilead, we lived about a mile from a nice swimming hole. Just before we left, Baxter slowly started making his way into the water...just to his paws, never quite so far as to fully have to swim. It was progress, and I was so proud of him. (And like a bad owner, I may have pushed him further than he meant to go. :) ).

One of the proudest moments of my life!

Though he's a good dog, he has a few flaws. I can deal with the not listening when there's another cat or dog around. Or having to put him in time out from time to time. But the fact he HATES water? Really?

Ugh.
I'm not sure I can forgive something like that...

V is for Vicious

Just when you thought it was safe to step outside...

This is his hunting face

...the monster attacks!

No, but really.

Maybe it's because Baxter is 120 pounds. Maybe it's because he's a little clutzy. But when I ran the road race in October, he was waiting for me at the finish line. We tried chili together (more-so, he snagged my bowl when I wasn't looking), and explored territory we'd never seen.

As we walked through the crowd, a dog who I'd been eyeing since we'd arrive lunged out of nowhere and went after Baxter. The owner didn't even apologize, meanwhile I wanted to punch him in the back of the head. (Awhile later, the same dog went after another dog who was passing by. Angryface.)

Just before the awards cemerony, there were a million people milling about. Baxter

The worst that's going to happen
is him knocking you over
and cuddling.

and I tried not to get tangled around people. On the ground beside us, there was a woman with a baby. Baxter wasn't even near her when she started screaming, "Not by the baby! Get it away from the baby!" and using her body as a shield like Baxter was going to eat the baby.

I wanted to yell at her to get "The baby!" off the ground. What am I supposed to do? Pick Bax up and carry him? Nope, you can do that with the baby.

Ugh. I wish people realized that I'm the more dangerous one out of the duo.

Outside of that, if you don't know Baxter very well, he does this....thing. (Sadly, I don't have a picture of it.)

If you give him a treat, or if you've been gone for awhile and he's REALLY happy to see you, he'll scrunch his face up and show ALL of his teeth. Legit, it looks like he's about to eat your face off. I have to warn people about this WAY ahead of time.

Do your pets ever look like they're about to maul you?

U is for Understanding

Notice he's not leashed?
Told him to just stay and be good.

Baxter has never been through obedience school (I feel like he'd flunk out anyway). He hasn't really been trained, other than by hand signals when I don't want to talk to him in the mornings. But somehow, he's an inherently good dog.

When we lived in NC, in order to get into our house, you literally had to kick the door open. We'd just finished going for a walk, and because he was standing so close, I tried gently pushing my foot against the door. It didn't budge.

"Bax, can you step to the side so I can kick this?" I asked.

He literally stepped to the side.

Before we left, we visited my friend Jake. I left Baxter with him while I went adventuring a few hours away. The following day I got a text saying, "I love your

He's all, "Dude, it's messy. Please clean"

dog." When asked why, he explained that his sister had had a seizure. Baxter somehow understood that something was wrong, woke Jake up and led him to her.

There have been a lot of small things like this, Baxter brings you a toy, and you say, "No, get your new toy," and he drops that one and finds the one you've just told him to get. I have no clue how he does this, but somehow he does.

Which is why, Baxter is my favorite person on the planet :)

In happier news, WE'RE SO CLOSE TO THE END OF THE A TO Z! HANG IN THERE!

T is for Time Out

Sometimes, he can just sit next to me

So there we were, walking without a leash because MOST of the time Baxter is good enough. It's night time, there are barely any cars out (which is why I'm okay with him not being on a leash). Suddenly, he darts to the left, into the yard of the local veterinary clinic.

"Baxter, get over here!" I yell.

He responds by wagging his tail, taking several steps away from me and peeing on a tree.

I continue to yell, to whistle, to no avail. My dumb dog will not come back. It's usually at this point I start to worry; what if he runs back and gets hit by a car, what if a mountain lion comes and eats him, what if he sees a raccoon and chases it....

On a mission, I march to Baxter, grab him by the collar where his eyes go wide. It's clear he knows he's done something wrong. I walk-drag him a few steps until he fights me holding him.

"Fine, but you better stay with me!"

And he does. He takes a step, turns his head and looks at me, almost like he's saying, "Look, look I'm right here!"

We get home, I open the door and yell, "Go lay down, right now!" It is not a pretty voice.

He's all "Please just love me!"

My boyfriend locks eyes with me. "What'd he do?"

"Ran off and wouldn't listen, so now he's in time out."

How time out works:
1) Baxter acts up. Typically it's him running off and not listening to me. It can be for a vast majority of reasons: other pets, something cool he wants to smell, etc.
2) Baxter DOESN'T come back.
3) We get home, I tell him to go lay down
4) He's not allowed to come near us until I deem him okay to be out of time out. Typically, I yell, "Bax, it's okay to come out now," or "Bax it's okay to come to bed now" and he RUNS.
5) For the next few days he listens a little better

S is for Sleep and Sit and Stay Signals

I'm a monster in the morning. If you wake me up, I will growl, yell, throw things...really, the first hour I'm awake, it's hazardous to be within a ten mile radius of me.

Though I love him, because he sleeps on the bed each night, Baxter is in the danger zone. So when he was a puppy, I started working with him on hand signals.

He responds to snaps (one snap verses two means different things), a closed fist says, Sit, while a flattened palm being lowered says, Lay Down. Flipping the hand over says, Roll Over, and holding your hand up in a stop-sign like fashion says, Stay (though this one is a work in progress).

I'm posting this so late because I've spent all day trying to get a video of him doing these things. If he calms down, it will be up!

R is for Real Birthday Fun

Quest accomplished. Sort of.

He's all, "Adventure! Freedom!"

We left a half hour later than we meant to. Baxter piled in the backseat, the boy and I drove around Portland, Maine but failed to find the Planned Parenthood to hold signs of support. Time was ticking, so we gave up and made our way to the tattoo parlour.

I walked in, and one of the guys said, "What can I do for you?"

Me and the artist

"I want a tattoo of my dog's paw print. He's in the car. How do we do this?"

He took out a stamp pad. The boy and I looked at the stamp pad and laughed. "He's a little bigger than that."

After shooting ideas back and forth, we determined Baxter would be brought in. With a gloved hand, the artist lifted Bax's paw, rubbed the disassembled pad all over his paw, then placed it on a piece of paper. The entire time, Baxter's tail was wagging.

The artist outlined the paw, sought my approval, and began work. I may have crushed the boy's hand (I forgot how much these things hurt).

In the end, I love the end result:

Even his paw print is adorable!

We finished out the day meeting people who are trying to change the world (and are fully prepared to go to jail for their cause, count me in!), then at the mall, with my good friend, Liz for dinner, and my partner and crime for celebration and pool. (The boy and I won both times).

A wonderful end to a wonderful day

Moral of the story is, for those of you who don't like your birthday because you're "getting old", please just don't forget to celebrate. Even if it's something small like buying yourself a new hat, or getting a tattoo of your dog's paw print, take time out for yourself. What better way to celebrate yourself?

Q is for Quest

That's right, his paw
is as big as my foot
(pretty much)

And on this day, April 19, a million years ago, I was born into this world.

And on this day, April 19, 2013, Baxter, the boy, and I go on a day long quest and adventure! (If you're wondering what the difference between a quest and an adventure is, it's simple: an adventure is spur of the moment, anything can happen fun fest! A quest has a mission to accomplish! We're doing a bit of both!)

 First, to Portland, Maine where we will hold signs supporting Planned Parenthood for the work they do. From there, I have a meeting in a coffee shop with an organization (eek!).

Then, the biggest dragon of the quest:

Getting a Baxter paw print tattoo.

Originally, the plan was to get it on the top of my foot. But then I started thinking: 1) Baxter's paw is HUGE 2) I hate feet 3) I never wear flip flops. 4) No one would see my Baxter tattoo. 5) I would only see it when I showered.

PASS!

Therefore, the location has changed to my calf. Less bony. More visible. Less feet-y. More Baxter-y :)

P is for Power Kites

Enough people don't fly kites anymore. It's a lost art that truly can make you happy.

When we lived on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, Laura became obsessed with Power Kites after learning how to Kiteboard. Meanwhile, I was frustrated, and angry, and cranky. The kite had picked me up, and shoved me face first under the water. It hurt, I was coughing and snotting up water, and getting stung by jelly-fish. I was not impressed.

But, because Laura liked to fly her kite at Jockey's Ridge State Park, Baxter and I joined her.

Yea....she was yelling,
"Baxter, I'm gonna kick you in the face!"

I thought Baxter was bad with other animals. Put a Power Kite in front of him and he'll run until he gives himself heat exhaustion and gets sick. He'll be puking, and still trying to chase the kite. (Not exaggerating.) He'll run into YOU if you're not looking where he's at. He will run at the kite and put holes in it.

He is so crazy about Power Kites, that for his 5th birthday, I bought him his own $500 kite just so Laura wouldn't kick him in the face like she'd threatened to.

Since moving to Maine, I haven't found a good place to fly, but you better believe, every time it gets windy, both Baxter and I are itching to get out there.

O is for Other Occupants

I know you guys have seen glimpses into the crap-holes Baxter and I have lived in, but I figured I'd give you a quick run down of our adventures in living...because it's more fun that way:

He looked happy.
But he wasn't.

1) When I first got him, the place I'd been living didn't allow pets. So, within a day, I moved. I knew the girl through work, and though her eyes are always rimmed red, I figured maybe it was eyeliner. It wasn't. It was, like, a permanent eye infection.

The house was infested with cockroaches. They'd invade my food, my oreos, my clothes. We only stayed there four months or so. Her dog and cat were starving to death, to the point her cat would drink soapy water out of the sink, and if left unattended, her dog would lunge into our room and eat Baxter's food. Baxter started becoming food aggressive. Because her dog also pooed and peed on the floor EVERY DAY (her room was covered in dog poop. It stayed there for WEEKS) Baxter got a rash. I got sick for three months.

Finally, I asked if she could start sanitizing and actually cleaning. She told me to move out. Thanks to the wonder of Craigslist,we did.

2) The next place we lived seemed like a saving grace. The roommate was cool and we played Wii together. There was a man who was 50-something, and the landlord who was 30-something. They were both guys, but they said they'd give me space, etc. etc. etc.

The first question I asked was, "You guys aren't infested with any bugs, are you?"

Though they said no, after my sister joined the party, it was found that the house was infested with bedbugs, and the 50-year old just liked to fight with me, then the landlord started picking fights. And for the record, if you ever get bedbugs, burn your house down. Baxter and I ended up sleeping outside, in a hammock, during the wildfires. We'd wake up covered in ash, and mosquito bites. Awful.

You can tell he's happy when he plays by himself

3)  The next place we moved to, we moved in a hurry. Though the previous tenants were up front with us about ants and cockroaches, I was suddenly no longer squeamish with these infestations.

Really, this house wasn't a bad place to live until the hurricane. And, even then, it wasn't a bad place because of the place, just bad luck. There was icky water everywhere. Baxter drank out of Britta filtered water. But this was the place I lived when I was pregnant, and unstable. Then my roommates all abanoned me and I couldn't afford the $800/month rent.

4) Skipping the homeless escapades and sleeping in the backroom of my work, Baxter and I moved to Maine where the sketchy old man exposed himself.

Though the neighbors sucked
He sure enjoyed cuddling

5) Then to the place where I thought my neighbors were going to kill me. Or him.

6) Then we moved to the place where my roommates locked me, Baxter, and my boyfriend in the basement. And threw our food on the floor.

7) Now we live in a gingerbread house. So far, it's going pretty well. The landlord is pretty chill, Baxter seems happy because he goes on more walks, and I'm a mile from work.

Long story short, I can't live with or near people. I'm a terrible roommate, and really, I don't like people being near my stuff. Right now seems pretty okay though.

Let's hope this upward trend continues.

N is for Not Without Me

Baxter has always had separation anxiety. When he was a puppy, I had to sleep on the floor with him until he was big enough to climb on the couch and curl up next to me. Now, he sleeps on the bed, every night. When I left for college, I pretty much dropped him off and didn't come back for weeks at a time. It happened a lot.

Now, every time I pack up a car, he gets this look in his eyes as though he knows I'm leaving. I'm not sure he's accepted the fact that he's coming with me. So when I start piling stuff in the car, he jumps in the back seat if I leave it unguarded.

"Bax, come on," I'll say.

And he'll sit there, staring straight ahead as though he's saying, "No way, man. You're not going anywhere without me."

So then, I have to continue packing up the back seat of the car around him.

He is my wing man, my running buddy, my support system. As though I'd be able to go anywhere without him again. Pssh.

L is for Longboarding

Sometime during college, my sister gave me a pair of roller blades. In movies, people wear roller blades and get pulled along by their dogs, so I thought, "Why not?!"

I put them on, leashed up her dog, Bailey, and WHOOSH! we were off! He listened when I said stop. When we went too fast, he let me veer off to the grass. My heart pounded with exhilaration.  If Bailey could do it, surely Baxter could!

A few days later, I flew from Michigan to Massachusetts, reunited with Baxter, put on roller blades, and....WHOOSH!

Baxter was FAST! He didn't listen as I screamed for him to slow down. Using my brain, I figured if I made him run up a hill, he'd slow down. I managed to forget where there's an uphill, there's a downhill....

He kept pulling, and pulling. The wheels spun, and spun. Soon, I was going faster than Baxter could run. Panicking, I looked for the nearest patch of grass and veered in that direction.

THUNK. THUNK.

My arm jerked backward. I was on my ass.

Kids sitting in the yard began laughing. "Whoa, that must have hurt!" but they weren't talking about me.

Standing up and brushing myself off, I asked, "What happened?"

"Your dog hit his head on the car, then his body wrapped around and hit the car."

Um.,,, :/

We never tried roller blading again. But, we do longboard pretty regularly. Since I've had him, he's gotten 1000x better on a leash, too.

K is for Keep Out

When my sisters came to Maine for my college graduation, they managed to miss it. By about a half hour. They called me, and I told them to just go to my house. It'd be unlocked.

They pulled into the driveway. "Is this the right place?" Laura asked.

Tammy looked around. "That's Baxter, isn't it?"

Together, Tammy, Laura, and Jacci grabbed their belongings and made their way into my unlocked house. Baxter, rather than meeting them at the door, cowered behind the couch, and pissed himself.

When I arrived home, they told me this story, laughing. "Some protector dog you have," they mocked.

"It would have been a different story if I'd been home," I reassured them. They continued to laugh.

He's all, "This is my stuff. I
guard it"

We stayed up celebrating. In the morning, Laura was awake, and rather than knocking on my closed bedroom door, barged in.

Baxter lunged after her.

"Told you so," I laughed, after she slammed the door.

It turns out, Baxter has established some house rules, and I've found this out the hard way:

1) If the door is closed, and the Lynne is sleeping, NO ONE is allowed in until she's awake
2) Other dogs can be allowed in the bedroom, but they are NOT allowed on the bed
3) Other dogs are NOT allowed to eat out of his food bowl
4) Other dogs are NOT allowed to smell or be too near my stuff, especially if I didn't invite them over

They're not bad rules, I suppose. I'm just always shocked to see when Baxter goes from adorable goof to over protective pup.

J is for Jackets

We've covered the fact that my mother is crazy, right? Well, if you're new to the blog, or hopping over from the A to Z Challenge, just trust me. She. Is. Nuts.

With that said, she currently owns three Jack Russels. They're cute, but yappy. They're a fraction of the size Baxter is. (Realistically, they probably weigh as much as one of Baxter's paws). So, of course, they all have jackets for the wintertime. And, really, she tries to dress them whenever she can.

He's all, "they make harnesses my size...
where is my jacket?"

A few years ago, I was so excited. Old Navy's doggie vests were on sale! I grabbed the largest size I could find and headed to my aunt's house. There, Baxter let me trap him. I slid one paw through the hole, and then the other. Then, I sat in front of him to button the clasps...only it was like buttoning a pair of pants after you've put on ten pounds~It felt like if he sucked in, I could get it, but it wouldn't be comfortable.

My hopes were dashed. I let my family see Baxter in his handsome little jacket
(because it matched mine), but returned the vest.

Since that time, every time I shop and stop into the dog food section, I look at the doggie jackets in the fleeting hope that one will fit my 120 pound dog.

Unfortunately, Wal Mart and Target's XL size is "up to 60-75 pounds".

If 60-75 pounds is an XL dog....what is a 120 pound dog?

I is for Identity Crisis

Baxter is the one who kind of put my memoir in motion. More-so, he was the one who told me something was wrong.

Let me back this up a bit. I'm sure you've gathered that he sleeps on my bed every night. And if any of you are familiar with dogs, or wolves, you know that they know female's cycles. It turns out, Baxter was no different.

My period had been late. And I mean, really, really late. I was laying on my back, when Baxter rested his head against my stomach. My heart dropped. He'd never done that before. Suddenly, I stopped waiting. I stopped thinking I was late. He was telling me was I was terrified to know.

In less than a week, I sought an abortion. I laid on the couch crying for weeks until we became homeless, until I got fired from my job, until my entire world fell apart. But he still needed to eat. He still needed to go outside. He forced me into motion when I wanted to give up.

We moved to Maine shortly after.

When we arrived, I was still fresh off a knee surgery, the abortion, uprooting our

One of the first pictures I took
of Baxter in Maine

entire lives. I couldn't breathe. I could barely stand. I felt disgusted with myself, and though through years of depression I'd said I hated myself, I truly, truly, did. Each day that passed, it took every fiber of my being not to hurt myself.

At nights, Baxter would still lay on my bed, but since the days of my pregnancy, he hasn't laid with his head on my stomach.

So, maybe I didn't want to be this person anymore. Maybe I was sick of being miserable, of putting myself in stupid situations, of trusting guys who would leave me when I was pregnant and not call to see if I was okay. Maybe...it was time for me to grow up.

When I'd arrived at the clinic, I wrote my name on a small piece of paper. That was the name they'd called me back by. Every time someone called me by that name, I heard the nurse. How could I escape from that?

And so I did what any insane girl would do. I started giving everyone another name, my middle name. People bought it, no questions asked.

I began to rebuild myself, from the inside out. Each day, I would say, "You're okay, you're okay, you can do this." I tried to be positive. And this month marks the one-year anniversary of my last round of cutting.

Baxter saved my life. He forced me into motion when I wanted to stand still and play dead. No matter what I tell people my name is, he's been there through all of it. He knows me, he accepts me, and he loves me. I've had an identity crisis. Some days, I'm still wondering who I am. But now, thankfully, most days, I feel like I'm on the right path.

H is for Household Hazards

Originally this post was going to be for Home and Hanging Out (but I'm sure you guys have seen enough of those pictures :) ), but I'd rather address something more serious (because I don't typically do that on this blog).

Many of you have expressed that you have pets that you love. But a lot of people don't know that things like onion, or garlic, can poison your pet. Many more don't know that these ingredients are found in canned dog food.

It's a scary world. Most people think "Hey, I can eat this, so my pet can, too." Sometimes that's true. Sometimes it isn't. I lived under that mentality until I obtained a veterinary internship my senior year of college (best idea, EVER. I got to assist in really intense surgeries. Amazing). It changed my life (and got me Pet-First-Aid Certified!)

With that said, I wasn't kidding. Here is a quick list of easy ways to accidently poison your four legged friend:

Baxter saying, "Please don't
feed me these onions"

*Onion~They can't digest it the same way we do. If I remember correctly it does something to their kidneys and liver

*Garlic~People who've been around awhile SWEAR that this acts as a flea and tick repellent. It doesn't. Your doggie's insides can't break garlic down the way we do. They'll eat it because they think it's yummy, but too much and your pup will keel over.

*Grapes~I once made the mistake of forcing my mom's dog to eat this. Years later I discovered it's the same as onion and garlic. Don't feed Fido grapes. Or really, fruit.

*Mouse or Rat poison~My mom's dog once found a container of this and ate the whole thing. Thankfully, we figured out he'd eaten it in time. The vet's pumped him full of charcoal and he was sick for a few days but alive. My father's dog wasn't as lucky, and she died a miserable death. If you have a pet, I understand that mice suck (I've had many die in my room...in my sheets). But try a live trap. #1) That way you're not killing something #2) You're not putting your friend in more danger than necessarily #3) You can release the mouse MILES from your house so (s)he'll never come back.

*Over the counter flea medication~I know it's cheaper than going to your vet, or even using 1-800-pet-meds, but really, please, DON'T use it. They've killed more dogs than the fleas have. And if you have a cat, DOUBLY DO NOT use that crap.

*Pain killers~See above about the mouse poison. It's bad news bears. Sometimes you can rush the dog in, get its stomach pumped, but most times, the owner doesn't know the pup can't digest it. If you're considering this route, TALK TO A VET FIRST, please.

For a more comprehensive list (and kittie geared, too) check THIS out. In the meantime, stay healthy, both you and your pet. Baxter expects a play-date soon. (No really, if you're ever in the area, please hit us up, he'd love it.)