Puppy Chet wears his lucky [GIMPshopped] Lady of Guadalupe sock. Get your own pair here.So I spent most of my Thanksgiving vacation with a 103F fever, wondering whether I would diiiiiieee, but actually I was more worried about Chet Baker. I worry about Chet a lot, partly because I'm a worry-wart border collie person but mainly because Chet Baker is the most terrific, handsome, charming, gentlemanly and doggish Boston Terrier in the history of the planet. [I rest my case. It doesn't hurt that his human is the most excellent writer/artist/photographer/birder/blogger Julie Zickefoose.] Chet Baker is, as Julie would say, totally ossum. Who wouldn't worry if he fell off a cliff or some such terrifying thing?
Chet, like your faithful blogger, was born on December 12 — a miraculous date any way you look at it, and I'm not even going to touch that impressive risen-from-the-dead business. Just let me say that I couldn't love and worry about Chet more if he were my very own, and here is proof, or at any rate proof of what certain border collie people mean by love: a tangentially related abstract from PubMed. I also worry something awful about coyotes, which snatch innocent Boston Terriers off porches; and when Julie didn't post a word for two days after his fall and recovery, I was curled up in knots [the fever didn't help], sure that Something Had Gone Terribly Wrong.
It hadn't. Chet is fine. And Julie loves him exactly the way she should. In fact, speaking of dog people who love dogs the way they should, here's a link to the best dog story ever written. [There's some white-man's-burden stuff in there, but dog people will push it off to the side for the story's sake. Also: Garm is what people today would call a pit bull.]
In a few weeks I'll be driving to San Juan Bautista for the Shepherd's Play performed in the old mission. It's wonderful. I will light candles in the mission church for Chet and for Lily who belongs to my sis and for all the dogs I love now and have loved over the years, and I'll think about how wonderful it is to have a great dog [several, in fact] waiting for me at home. Happy Late Thanksgiving and Happy Early Birthday, Chet Baker! May you have many more, and may each be happier than the last. And Chet? Watch out for coyotes, shorty. Also, did I mention you have more faithful admirers than you'll ever know? Because you do. You totally, totally do.
5 comments:
Oh, thank you for the link to the Kipling story! It made me laugh, and cry, and hug my dogs.
Dear Luisa,
Thank you for appreciating Chet Baker so thoroughly and lovingly. I worry about coyotes, cliffs, cars, coons, and many other things that don't begin with C. The coyotes howl right in our yard. Needless to say I watch and listen anxiously during the nightly peebreak. It is mine to treasure him while he's here, to do what I can to keep him among us, while allowing him to be all the dog he can be--much the same effort I put into my kids. He is a tough little sausage, and smart, too, and I hope to be polishing his dentures well into his teens. I wish the same for you and your beloved canids.
I think it would be safest if you all just carried him everywhere wrapped in a blanket [and my sis should do the same with Lily].
But seriously. Chet has the best family on earth, and the combination of his Chetocity and Julie's talent as a writer and photographer is, as the man wrote, top-grade triple-refined USDA-inspected 100 percent purest awesome.
Just wrapped LilyMunsterPug in a mummy-like papoose. Not so comfy. Remember, she thinks she's a mountain goat. What's Plan B? BTW, is there such a thing as a coyote whistle?
Secret Service protection? Hmmm... I vote for bodyguards.
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