G is for Greetings and Goings

So pathetic...

I work two jobs, which means that I'm gone anywhere from 8-12 hours a day (though I'll be back to one job soon enough). Though the boyfriend spends extra time with Baxter and lets him out during his lunch break, Baxter still sits and stares out the window as though the world is ending.

When we lived in North Carolina, I'd drop him off at friend's houses if I knew I'd be working a long shift. When I'd pick him up, they'd say, "I tried all day to get him to eat, or to play with him. But he just sat there and sighed. He was miserable."

As it turns out, there's just no fun left in the world.

But there are two exceptions to the misery rule:

1) When I come home (Greetings).
To Bax, it's like the world is full of dog treats, puppy toys, and canned food. The grass is made of back scratchers, and the trees have all been peed on. There is nothing better than the moment I walk through the door. His entire body wiggles, he pushes all of his weight into my legs, and for the next thirty seconds, I can do nothing but pet him until he deems it safe for me to enter the house.

2) When we get ready to go for a walk (Goings).
 Which is better described in this video. CAUTION: The sound was really messed up, so I'd mute it before I'd watch it. The effect is still the same:

Sometimes he gets so excited, he'll rear back like a horse, and kick his front paws in the air. Sometimes, he paws at the door like he's capable of breaking it down (who knows, he may be). It makes it hard to put his leash on, but as soon as it's on, it's go time. He's ready to face the world.

Which reminds me, it's Monday.

Are you ready to face the world? (Happy Monday, we hope your week is awesome!)

F is for Friends and Family

He can make human, or canine friends

The thing about dogs and small children is that they fall in love easily. I remember being at the playground when a little girl, small and blond, just like me, came up. I asked, "Hey, do you want to be friends?" and she said yes. And for that entire day we played on the jungle gym together.

Baxter is kind of the same way. If you pet him the right way, he'll love you for life. I'm pretty sure that by now he's used to moving around a lot and getting his heart broken as we leave, but he still makes friends.

He met Laura as a puppy. He pooed in her yard, probably peed in her apartment, got attacked by her cats. Back then he was small and adorable so the peeing and pooing was (somewhat) excusable. A few years later, we all lived together on and off for about two years. She hated how much he drooled, but when I went to Seattle for PNWA, she took care of him for me.

And then she left North Carolina.

And then we left North Carolina.

Though Baxter and I travelled to Michigan, he didn't get to see Laura (her apartment didn't allow extra pets, plus we were afraid of how the cats would take a 120 lb dog). It's been just about two years since Baxter has seen my sister.

And though it's been awhile, it turns out, he hasn't forgotten her at all:

Think he missed her?

When she got into the car at the airport, he all but mauled her. It was probably one of the cutest and yet most heartbreaking things I'd ever seen. Cute, because it was so very evident that he remembered her, and that he missed her. Heartbreaking, because he truly missed her.

Here's why dogs are better than people:
~They don't get angry when you leave. They're just happy when you return.
~They don't ask for more than you're willing to give. If you don't want them on your lap, you say "Go lay down" and typically it's done.
~They can love you, even if you're not the owner.

So to friends and family near and far, know that Baxter loves and misses you.

And he's patiently awaiting your return.

E is for Everywhere

Traveling to somewhere. He's so ready.

This is not a Michelle Branch song. Baxter has not figured out how to time travel, and literally be everywhere at once (although if he did, that'd be pretty cool).

E is for Everywhere because I try to bring Baxter everywhere. He's traveled to: Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Maryland, Georgia, and many states between. He's lived in Michigan, Massachusetts, Maine (twice now!), and North Carolina. He's made friends from other countries (including but not limited to: Ecuador and the Phillipines). He goes to New Year's gatherings with me, Thanksgiving feasts with friends, Neon and Glow in the Dark themed proms, and when the job allows it, work. When I do my public speaking gigs at middle schools, he's usually in the backseat.

He isn't afraid of a 14 hour car ride, but with the 18-20 hour rides, he starts getting fussy (still a champ, but more reluctant to get back in the car for awhile).

Waiting for my car to finish with its oil change.

Many of my friends know that if I'm coming, Baxter is, too. Many will already have bowls down on the
ground, one filled with water, and one waiting to be filled with the food that I'll bring. The truth is, I don't like being separated from him. Four years was quite enough, thank you.

However, this traveling can sometimes be problematic. Like that time a deer decided to T-Bone my car, explode the window, rip off my side mirror, and all around jack up my car.

Baxter was in the backseat. his snout was covered in glass. I had glass down my shorts, down the back of my shirt, pretty much everywhere. When I looked, I was grateful that it was my window and not his that had exploded (last time I'd seen him, his face had been pressed against his window).

After the deer accident

All we were trying to do was get some frozen yogurt from the new shop that had opened up. Geeze.

My sister was (thankfully) in the car behind us. After the cop did his report, Laura looked at me and said, "Look, I don't appreciate him drooling all over my car, but I don't want him standing in all that glass, I'll take him home."

Since then, it makes me nervous every time he gets into the car with me because though I can control my driving, I can't control deer, or other drivers, or snowstorms, or falling trees. I limit the times he'll ride with me (if conditions are bad, he stays home and glares at me.) It's already been a bumpy ride for us. I make a silent prayer that the car rides won't make it any bumpier.

D is for Drinking Til You Puke

This might be doggie-flaw week. I really enjoy pointing out all of Baxter's flaws, so you guys truly know what kind of monster he is.

If you guys grew up watching Mortal Kombat, you're told that The Element Which Brings Life is Water. For some reason, Baxter believes this whole heartedly. I understand he's a big dog, so he gets more water than say an ankle biter does, and while he hates rain, and rivers, and oceans, he loves drinking water.

After the Great Baxter Caper, I had to adjust to being a pet parent. I bought toys he hated, treats he refused to eat. For awhile, I always kept his food and water bowls completely full.

Until one day I was sitting around, and I heard the coughing. The coughing turned to gagging. The gag turned into...well, you know.

Every day, it kept happening. So I started paying attention. I learned that he'd only puke after he inhaled lots of water.

Now, my ears are tuned to the sound of him slurping. I usually give him to the count of ten before I say, "Hey." If he starts again, he gets a count of five. People who don't know this about him will stop me and say, "Dude, he's just drinking water."

But they don't understand....if I let it get out of control....
 BAD.NEWS.BEARS.

But thankfully, he usually aims in places that aren't occupied by my clothes, papers, or computer.

A few months ago when we were living in Most Recent Creepy Situation, I came home and there were 2-3 piles of puke on the floor. One of them had splotches of blood in them. I FLIPPED out, and took him to the vet (who we now live next to, literally) the following morning.

"So what's the issue?" the woman asked as she scratched him behind the ears.

"So, he's always been a bit of a puker...but last night..."

In the end, he was okay (just must have eaten something that didn't agree with his tummy), so, I guess I can still love him. Until he decides to run off on me again...

C is for Cats and Dogs

My good friend's cat and Baxter

I know I gush about how perfect and how smart Baxter is. Most of the time he is. But while I can leave whole pizzas in front of him and walk away, or uneaten tacos, my adorable pup has on weakness: Other Animals. Cats, Dogs, Raccoons ..it doesn't matter, he loves them all and wants to play with them.

We've had instances where we've gone long boarding and a neighbor-dog who is unleashed decides to try to attack the unsuspecting Baxter. I've had Baxter sans leash, and he's come home with scratch marks across his face from the big dark animal he decided to chase for a half mile while I'm running behind him and screaming for him to "Get back here!"

There is no reasoning with him when there is another animal life form around. While the center of his universe usually focuses on me, when there is a meow across the street, or a person walking their dog...I cease to exist in Baxter world. In North Carolina while I was visiting a friend, Baxter saw a small dog across the street, began to run, smashed straight into my legs. It was like a movie, my legs flew over my head, and I pretty much landed on my neck hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I wanted to murder him.

Remember that time the old man exposed himself to me and I got him arrested? Where was Baxter, you

This was his friend he abandoned me for

wonder? Playing with his friend. Then there was that time we moved into the last sketchy place and within the first two days, Baxter managed to tree their cat (I should have known then it'd be trouble).

I love my dog. Really, I do. But sometimes, he's such an idiot, I just want to knock some sense into him. Thankfully, usually after I regain control of the little butthead, I'm able to send him to Time Out, but I feel like that's a post for another day :)

B is for Baxter

My family and I always had this belief that you cannot pick a name for a cat or dog, go out, and get a cat or dog and place that name on it. You have to go to the pound (or in this case, go to a Wal Mart parking lot), pick out an adorable puppy, and hang out with him or her for awhile. The pet you get has a name, you just have to be able to find it.

Baxter was no exception. I got him in 2006, just after graduating high school. Like any puppy separated from his brothers and sisters, he craved nearness and warmth, and an obnoxious amount of cuddling. He enjoyed chewing on things (including the photo album my SO at the time put together, and as I screamed at him he peed on the pieces. Ugh. Memories). During this time period movies like Pirate of the Carribean and Anchorman were pretty huge.

"He's pretty spunky," I said to my sisters. "We should name him Jack, like Captain Jack Sparrow."

Laura shrugged. "Maybe Jake, because he's playful."

He was so small and adorable...
What happened??

I shrugged. No matter what we said, the names didn't have the right magic to them. We continued tossing names around before either watching Anchorman, or having someone quote the part where Will Ferrel (spelling error? Too lazy to look up how to spell his name) says, "The bad man punted Baxter!"

The light clicked. At once, we all turned to stare at the small puppy curled in my lap. "Baxter!" we said, cooing his name. There was a faint tail wag. We knew what Baxter's name was.

In time the Baxter proved to be the best name for him.

A is for Almost

You make a million decisions on a daily basis. Sometimes, they completely change the direction of your life. Sometimes, it's just figuring out which socks you should wear today. And then sometimes, your decisions not only affect you, but the people around you. So much so, that they decide not to speak to you...for over three years (and counting...).

It was 2006 when it finally dawned on me that I got Baxter at a really bad time in my life. By that time, I was already in puppy love with him. I slept on the living room floor because he was too small to get on the couch or the bed. In the mornings he'd bite me to tell me it was time to wake up and let him outside. We spent the summer months playing soccer at the park and going on field trips in the truck.

I called my cousin in Massachusetts. "So...I got a puppy. Can you watch him for me while I'm in college?"

After some convincing, he said yes. Baxter got in the truck, we travelled from Michigan to the East Coast, and like a good puppy, he slept with his head in my lap a majority of the drive there. With a heavy heart, I dropped off my puppy stating in four years, I'd be taking him back.

He's so youthful in this picture!

I spent most of my holiday breaks with my extended family, primarily so I could spend time with Baxter. When I'd walk through the door, he'd tackle me, pin me down, and lay on me for about an hour. It was pathetic and adorable. When I'd leave my aunt would call me and say, "Baxter hasn't left your room. It's been three days. He's not eating. I think he misses you."

Before I knew it, the four years had passed. From time to time, I'd talk to my aunt about taking him back and though the first couple years of college, she'd said yes, as the time approached, she became more and more reluctant.

After-all, it had been four years. Did I still have a right to him? I wasn't sure. As a test run, I took him during my graduation for a few weeks. I got him fixed, discovered he'd contracted Lyme while in the care of my aunt, and put him on a heavy round of antibiotics. My family drove up for my graduation, and though Baxter hadn't seen them in weeks, he ran up, greeted them, and returned to me. Maybe he did love me more. Or maybe, I was seeing what I wanted to.

Finally it was the Thanksgiving after college. My cousins sat me down and said, "Look. He's your dog. Write a note, apologize, but don't ask permission. Take him and go."

"But what if he's happier here?" I asked.

"He's not. He's a hyper dog. They don't take him for walks. They just tell him to go lay down. You're young. You go out and do things."

I looked to my large dog. Since his neutering, he'd put on heafty amounts of weight. He was getting to the age where it could start affecting his hips, as well as everything else.

"Take him."

He was always so happy to see me

Two days after Thanksgiving, after eating a nice meal with my aunt, I stayed up all night packing my car. Baxter sat at the door as if to say, "Please don't leave me again." His head hung low the entire time. As I sat on the bed with a notebook in my hands, Baxter rested on my lap. I scratched behind his ears, took a deep breath, and began writing the letter that would explain why I was stealing my dog, and that I loved my aunt, and I'm sorry for being selfish.

With tears in my eyes, I signed it, "Please know that I love you, and I hope you'll forgive me for this someday."

Two hours later, my alarm woke me. It was three in the morning. I loaded the last of my things and let Baxter out to run. At last, I opened my door and whispered, "Alright, get in."

I didn't have to tell him twice. He leapt into the car, and after four years of separation, we finally started our life together.

He's so ready to pounce

It's been over three years now. My aunt still hasn't spoken to me, and while it hurts, and while I've still sent Christmas cards and letters from time to time, I can't bring myself to regret my decision. Yes, it was selfish. Yes, four years was a long time for him to be in her care.

But I truly believe that Baxter has had a better life with me. He's not surrounded by cigarette smoke all the time. We go for walks regularly. He's been to beaches, and rivers, and mountains. He's learned to walk on a leash (sort of).

And he's saved my life.

I almost gave up on him. Words cannot express how happy I am to have him in my life.