April 11, 2000
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We've added a third member to our house...introducing Mr. Baxter Lester! Vitals
I'll try not to prattle on about him, but I will tell you this: Baxter loves you. He loves you because you might pet him. And he loves me, and he loves Andy. Baxter gives big hugs that involve his entire body. After living in a shelter for a year, wouldn't you? Last week I took Baxter for a walk after school. He paused to sniff a neighbor's mailbox and then--just as I remembered that I didn't bring along a plastic bag--started to circle and squat! "No, no, Baxter!" I sing-songed as I yanked on his leash. "Ha ha! No poops! Not yet! Here we go!" I started jogging towards home--which was thankfully close-- a confused Baxter panting along side of me. He hurried around our house and to the fence that separates our back yard from a corn field. The grass is all overgrown back there, and he enjoys prancing around, pooping, digging, rolling and sniffing. It's like his own PlayPlace. I watched him, kind of, as I sat on the deck and enjoyed the warm sun. When he was done frolicking, he bounded over and put his front paws on my lap. I started to pet him when I noticed..his stink. "Oh no," I said, as I pushed his greedy and loving arms away from me while trying to ascertain that the toxic odor was coming from his fur. "Baxter...no." He placed his paws on my lap again, and tried to nuzzle me. I inhaled. "BAXTER!" I cried, pushing him off my lap. "DID YOU ROLL IN YOUR OWN POOP???" Baxter stood at attention, smiling at me, ears perked. He did! He stank! He was clearly trying to get back at me for not allowing him to drop his load in the neighbor's lawn. He had purposefully rolled in his poop and now he smelled! Bad! Andy was summoned home from work a little early that day, much to his chagrin, and we decided it was time for Baxter's First Bath. As we prepared for the event (gathered towels), I pretended to help while nonchalantly letting Andy do most of it alone. "I GUESS WE'D BETTER TAKE HIM BACK," Andy said, "IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE THIS." Jeez. Fine. The three of us went upstairs to the bathroom with a tub, Baxter prancing and capering beside us. After we all entered the bathroom--and it's not a big bathroom--Andy closed the door. Baxter's enjoyment of this close proximity to his family lasted until he heard the water running in the tub. Andy, kneeling on the floor next to the tub, reached out to pull Baxter in. "Come on Baxter!" Andy called, patting the side of the tub. "Hop in!" Baxter backed up so that his butt was touching the bathroom door, then dropped to the ground, flattening himself so that no one's prying hands could get under him. Andy somehow managed to catapult the pupper into the tub, but once he got wet, he was motionless. He sat still and allowed several varieties of shampoo to be rubbed all over his body, and while being rinsed he actually began to look pleased. The smell of poo wafting through the air was replaced with the smell of coconut with some faint notes of Pert Plus. I got a big fluffy towel ready for when he was done. I was not prepared in the least for the terror of what ensued next. When Andy turned the water off, I opened the bathroom door to let some steam out. I thought Baxter would sit at my feet nicely so I could rub his fur with the towel...but Baxter had other ideas. He exploded out of the bathroom and threw himself onto the carpeted hallway floor. THREW HIMSELF AND ROLLED BACK AND FORTH VIGOROUSLY. "Oh my God," I said. Leaping to his feet, Baxter frantically rocketed through the upstairs quarters--first into the guest room, then into my office--each time repeating the same drop and roll, drop and roll, DROP AND FLOP AND ROLL. We could only stand in the doorway of the bathroom and watch in awe...until he began the butt rub. "ANDY! Jesus! He's RUBBING HIS ASS on our $1800 PAINT JOB!" Baxter began to lurch back and forth across the upstairs landing, slamming his body into the walls of our newly painted khaki-colored walls...each slam ending with a lingering butt-wipe that went on for two feet...each slam leaving a hairy, sloppy wet mark. His next target was our bedroom. "HEY! HEY! OH GOD! HE'S RUBBING HIS ASS ON OUR COMFORTER! ON OUR CUTE COMFORTER!" He repeated the slam and wipe against all 3 sides of the bed he could access, then tore back into the hallway, down the stairs, and into the living room--a frantic, dripping, coconutty rocket dog. On the couch! On the chair and a half! Drop to the ground! Flop and roll! Flop and slop! Feel the burn, baby, I'm a wet dog! "WHY CAN'T HE STAY IN ONE PLACE?" I screamed. "Get him in your office! Andy! Get him in your office!" Andy's office is on the lowest level of the house and has horrible green shag carpeting and no real walls and I wanted the dog in there quick. "WHAT?" Andy yelled, chasing the dog through the kitchen and back into the living room, around and around, as Baxter left wet marks on our newly painted red walls. "WHAT?" "Your office! Your office!" I yelled, leading the way down the stairs and pointing frantically. "GET HIM IN THE OFFICE!" "Ohhhh," Andy cried, finally shooing Baxter down the stairs. "I thought you meant take him to my work!" "FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!" Baxter surrendered to the office after a few final dramatic lunges at the family room furniture, taking special care to spin in a circle on his back in front of the bookshelves so that his wet feet could knock over a few picture frames and candles. When he finally collapsed onto the floor of Andy's office he looked happily at us, his People, his ears cocked and his tail thumping, waiting to see what fun we had planned next. "Well? Did you learn your lesson, Baxter?" Andy asked sternly. Baxter cleaned his privates and yawned. |
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