Remembering Baxter

It's been a year. I still miss you, my friend, and I know I always will. But I have 13 years of wonderful memories that continue to make me smile.

Here's to Baxter Henri Campagnard, the sweetest dog I've ever known.

  - J                                   

Mouthfuls of Hair

The relationship between Remy and Kirby is still under negotiation. From day one, Kirby has been remarkably tolerant of Remy. Kirby wants to play and always comes over when Remy comes out of his crate, but I think Remy is a little more gonzo-puppy than Kirby wants to handle most of the time. Remy, who is now 11 weeks old and growing like a weed, is relentless in his attempts to tackle Kirby. He seems to think that pouncing on Kirby from behind and proceeding to grab and twist wads of Kirby's long hair is great fun. Kirby has always enjoyed a good wrestle as much as the next dog, but he's never encountered such a hair-puller. And the fact that Remy is now the same height as Kirby adds a whole different dimension to the puppy attack.

Remy has learned "leave it!" and is now very good at NOT chewing our shoes, rugs, etc. Amazing how quickly he learned those house rules (I hope this sticks). The one "leave it" he does not listen to is about Kirby. I take that back, if we are standing right next to both of them and we catch Remy just about to pounce, a forceful "leave it" tends to make him abort the attack. But if we look away for one second, it's hair-pulling time.

All this makes me feel a bit sorry for Kirby, but it bears remembering that when we brought Kirby home as a puppy six years ago he was absolutely relentless in his attacks on Baxter. But at the time, Kirby barely came up to Baxter's knees so his ability to de-beard his big brother was limited to a few jump-and-grabs. Baxter was remarkably tolerant of Kirby, even though he wasn't particularly happy to have him around for the first few weeks. He would even lie down so that Kirby could wrestle with him. We always treated Baxter as the elder (he was seven when we introduced Kirby as a puppy) and, from our perspective at least, Baxter was always the top dog. But that didn't stop Kirby from attempting dominance over Baxter for the next six years. He would steal Baxter's toys (Baxter always let him) and Kirby would attempt to climb on top of Baxter when the big guy was sleeping. We sometimes called Kirby "Little Napoleon" for his big attitude.

Perhaps due to this upbringing and Baxter's gentle nature, Kirby has always been fearless around big dogs. When we were first thinking about getting another Griff puppy and took Kirby over to visit with some adult Griffs, he attempted to dominate all of them, even the intact adult male. So our biggest concern about bringing a puppy into the house was that Kirby might be a little rough with the puppy.

Much to our surprise, the opposite has been true. Kirby's immediate reaction, when we introduced them in the motel room that first night, was to hide under the bed. He growled and let Remy know that the underbed was Kirby's realm. But when we got home, the sacred under-sofa realm of Kirby was immediately violated by Remy and, much to our surprise, Kirby didn't defend it very assertively at all. He growled, but never laid a tooth on the puppy, even when Remy was chewing on Kirby's ears, moustache and tail. When Remy pounces on him now Kirby always looks up at us with the same "please help me" look Baxter used to give us when Kirby (or our toddler neice) had hold of his moustache. And when Remy latches onto the scruff of hair on the back of Kirby's neck and won't let go, Kirby hardly fights back.

Right now they're close to the same size (Kirby weighs more and is a lot stronger, but Remy is taller and more agile).  It won't be long before Remy is too big to fit under the sofa, so Kirby will get his safe haven back. For now, though, we've had to gate the stairs and give Kirby the upstairs during the times Remy is out of his crate. Sometimes Kirby sits at the gate and begs to come out and play. This lasts all of five minutes before he's had enough of Remy's antics and Kirby asks to go upstairs again.

Concerned over how much we should intervene, I posted the question to the Griffology group on Facebook (a group of people who share their photos, stories, trials and joys of living with Griffs) to ask for advice. Some said to let the two dogs duke it out (within reason). Some said Kirby was just giving Remy a pass because he recognizes that Remy is a puppy and once he gets older, Kirby will be a bit more assertive with him. Some said we need to pull Remy off when he gets too rough with Kirby and assert our human dominance, keeping the puppy as the low dog in the pack. What we've ended up doing is a combination of those things. Sometimes, as one person suggested, we just keep a leash on Remy and use it to pull him back when he's trying to jump on Kirby (this is much to Remy's frustration and Kirby's relief).

We have achieved detente on a limited basis. The one time they will lie down side by side is when they both have a giant rawhide roll to chew on. But that can only be for short, supervised periods before someone (usually Kirby) rips off a chunk and tries to swallow it. Remy still has little baby teeth, so it takes him a lot longer...

I look forward to the day when these two can play together and sleep curled up next to each other. I know Kirby would like that. He always wanted to cuddle up next to Baxter and kept trying even when Baxter wasn't particularly interested. I honestly think he would do it with Remy right now, if the little guy would just give him a break.

Patience Kirby. Patience.

Why a Griff?

Trey's Puppies - photo: Supreme Point Kennels

For a few weeks now I've been posting about the forthcoming arrival of a new puppy...the little Wirehaired Pointing Griffon who will join our family in late November. A few people have asked me "Why that breed?" I always have an answer: because Baxter was a Griff.

While we know we'll never have another dog quite like Baxter, getting a dog of the same breed does stack the odds in favor of having a dog that has a similar temperament and a similar -- for lack of a better word -- energy. It's an energy we miss very much. Everyone I've met who has had a Griff in their lives says the same thing. There's just something unique about them. A certain "je ne sais quoi" that I've attempted to describe in many past blog posts about Baxter.

I recently joined a Griffology group on Facebook and it's almost overwhelming, even sobering, to find that so many of the traits we so valued in Baxter are traits every Griff person in that global group says they so love about their dogs. It's a great breed. I'm sure every dog breed group feels the same way. It's just that Jamie and I know it to be true in this case.

Now, as a vocal supporter of pet adoption from shelters and rescues, and as one who proudly shares my home with a mixed-breed dog we adopted from a shelter, I have done some soul searching about whether it's right to get a purebred dog from a breeder when there are so many unwanted dogs needing homes. My answer (which I fully recognize may be the result of some cognitive dissonance) is "it depends."

So here, in the form of unsolicited advice, I will explore that dissonance and how I've come to accept that either way, it's OK, with some notable exceptions...

Shelter puppy: If you want a puppy and you enjoy the wonderful mystery that is a mixed-breed like our Kirby, the shelter is, far and away, the best place to go. I highly recommend it. In fact, if you aren't going to get a well-bred, purebred puppy from a reputable, small-scale dog breeder that pays attention to genetics and careful breeding practices, your best bet is a mixed breed -- hybrid vigor helps ensure that any health or behavioral problems that might be inherent in any contributing breeds is diluted. And it can be fun trying to figure out what breeds are in your dog's ancestry (with Kirby we turned it into a contest among friends -- the winner got a donation to the animal shelter of their choice).

Shelter/rescue adult: Better yet, if you want an adult dog, the shelter or a breed rescue is a great place to find a dog that is already housebroken and comes with a well-formed personality. That can be a very good thing, because if you have time to get to know the dog, you already know how they're going to turn out!  But if you don't have time to get to know the dog, you have to be OK with the fact that these dogs were surrendered to a shelter or rescue for a reason, and you may not know what that is. It may have nothing to do with the dog other than having an owner who can not or will not care for it anymore. But in any case, these dogs come with their own mysteries and you need to be ready and willing to put the time in to help solve them. Too many shelter and rescue dogs end back up in shelters and rescues for the same reasons they were surrendered in the first place.

While Kirby was still a puppy (although older than the shelter thought) when we adopted him, he had come from a feral litter of puppies that had little or no human contact during some critical periods of early development. He came pre-loaded with heartworm, too many teeth and a few socialization issues, and it was our challenge to help him overcome them. It was a challenge we embraced with the love and caring (and large vet bills) our sweet little guy needed and deserved, and we helped him grow into a healthy, friendly, well-adjusted little dog. I wouldn't trade him for any dog. Ever. But Kirby was more than a dog, he was a project.

There are times in one's life that such projects are welcome. There are other times that one has too many projects, and just the effort to housebreak a healthy, well-adjusted puppy is project enough. A well-bred purebred puppy at least gives you a fairly accurate prediction of the kinds of health and behavioral issues you may need to deal with. It also gives you a pretty good idea of how big the dog will be, what the personality will be like, how much care the coat will be and how to approach things like training. For us, at this time in our lives, these were key factors in our decision to get another Wirehaired Pointing Griffon.

Not from a puppy mill! I say well-bred purebred because poorly-bred purebred dogs are probably the worst choice you can make. They may look like you expect them to, but they may be riddled with genetically-based health problems, just for starters. And if you get a puppy from a pet store, there's a high chance that your purebred or cross-breed dog (I see a lot of labradoodles and puggles around these days) came from a puppy mill. I think we've all seen the photos of the inhumane treatment of these dog-breeding factories with cage after cage of breeder dogs living in misery and filth, existing only to produce puppies as "products" for some uncaring person's profit. The in-breeding that often takes place can result in dogs that have serious health and mental problems, behavioral issues and short lifespans. It's not the puppy's fault. But if you get one of these dogs, you are supporting an "industry" that should not exist.

There is a HUGE difference between these puppy mills and the small-scale, loving, humane purebred dog breeders who keep their dogs as family companions and put a great deal of effort into ensuring that their puppies' bloodlines and genetics are sound to further the development of the breed. These people are dedicated to their breeds, and their dedication is usually out of love for their own dogs and the desire to continue putting those great dog genes into the world. It's both a passion and a science. And it's not new -- it's something humans have been doing with dogs ever since someone noticed "hey, look at that dog pointing at that bird" or "wow, if only we could get more dogs to round up the sheep like that."

Good dog breeding has been helping humans eat and live more productive lives for millennia. Now it helps people like us find a puppy that we know a little bit about before we bring him or her into our home. It helps us stack the odds in our favor that the little canine who will be a part of our family for the next (hopefully) 12-15+ years will be the kind of companion we have come to know and love through one who shared some of his or her ancestral DNA.

So yeah, it depends. We are getting a purebred Wirehaired Pointing Griffon and we are very happy about it. We've found a great breeder who is also a veterinarian, who raises her puppies in a warm, loving home, around their children and their cat and a little dog. We know, from our experience with Baxter, that Griffs are great around children, but it helps to know that the puppies are being adored by children from day one. We got to see the pictures of mama Trey when she was expecting, the first pictures of the newborn pups (on my birthday!) and we're following their growth and progress through pictures and videos the breeder posts on Facebook. It's an experience unlike one I've ever had in the past when it comes to adopting a dog, but it's fun. And we can hardly wait to bring that little Griff into our home.

I still have my dream of starting a rescue/rest home for senior dogs some day. And we'll probably have more shelter or rescue dogs in the future as well (when we get more space). But there's just something about those Griffs...

Baxter

Puppy Fever

Kirby doesn't know what he's in for. Or maybe he does. We love our little guy dearly, but we all seem to be missing that big dog energy around the house. Baxter has left a hole in our lives that can never be filled... even so, lately we've been feeling a bit of puppy fever. I'm not sure exactly when it started, but a few weeks ago, both my husband and I compared notes and realized that we each had started looking at websites for Wirehaired Pointing Griffons. We decided maybe -- just maybe -- it was time to start looking for another puppy.

Meanwhile... our last trip to the beach with Kirby made it quite obvious to us that he still misses his pal. When Baxter was around, Kirby used to happily tag along with him as he ran and explored and sniffed every clamshell and bit of driftwood (and the occasional dead fish or bird). They chased and played and Kirby seemed more free and more confident at the beach than he did anywhere else except the inside of our house. But without Baxter, our trips to the coast have been different. Kirby hangs at our heels. He doesn't explore. He doesn't play. He will sometimes run to greet another dog, but then quickly runs back to us. He looks around constantly, flinching at noises and things that move. Oh, he still enjoys the unfettered running, but the paranoia seems to have taken some of the joy out of it.

We thought maybe hanging around with some Griffs would help us know if we were ready to bring another dog into our lives, particularly one who might look and act a bit like Baxter. We decided to visit the woman who first introduced us to the Wirehaired Pointing Griffon. She welcomed us to her home where she now has three Griffs and two Dobermans running around. Kirby played tirelessly with the Griffs (the Dobies were segregated so as not to overwhelm our little guy...three vaguely familiar dogs were overwhelming enough). Actually, Kirby didn't seem overwhelmed at all. We were a little nervous that he seemed quite comfortable running with the big dogs, to the point where we knew roughhousing might lead to tears (ours).

We had a great time soaking in that energy -- and there really is a Griff energy that is unique. It's hard to explain, but if you've ever known one, you know what it is. It's a lightheartedness, a goofiness, a sweetness. Well, here's a wee glimpse of it...



So, perhaps it is time. For all of us. We want that big dog energy, that Griff energy in particular, back in our lives. Now to find a puppy...

Baxter Henri Campagnard: 4 April 1999 – 23 April 2012

This is the Scruffy Dogs post I never wanted to write.  Our beloved dog, Baxter, has passed away. It has taken me a while to get to the point where I can even begin writing about him. And even now, more than a month later, it is incredibly difficult.

Baxter Henri Campagnard was the scruffy dog who inspired this blog a number of years ago. He and our little dog Kirby, who came along later, provided fodder for most of my musings about dog companionship over the years. Baxter made it easy. He was the sweetest, gentlest, most soulful dog I have ever known. And while all dogs are special, I can’t tell you how many people over the years Baxter was in our lives told us what a truly unique and special dog he was. Of course, we knew that. We knew it from day one, when the family who bred his litter opened the gate to their back yard and that little, scruffy puppy with the golden eyes just sat there, right in front of the gate, looking straight at us as if to say “well it’s about time you got here!”

The connection was immediate for both my husband and me. As for Baxter, his place in our lives seemed perfectly natural, expected. There was no transition period, no crying for his mother or littermates. Baxter just nestled into our lives with a comfort and confidence that he was exactly where he was meant to be. 

He charmed us, inspired us and made us laugh. He drove us crazy at times with his puppyhood antics: the shredding of whatever we put into his puppy crate; the discovery of the bowl of Belgian seashell chocolates that, when consumed, set off a frenzy involving a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a turkey baster; the penchant for eating whatever stinky things he found along the sidewalk; the insatiable curiosity that had us following him around the house saying “no” and “leave it” almost constantly for a few months. He tested his boundaries and he tested our patience at times, but every moment of puppyhood and adolescence was worth it because Baxter grew into a thoughtful, loyal and trustworthy dog – a dog who never destroyed anything in our house that wasn’t in his crate (people don’t always believe me when I say that, but it’s true); a dog who learned not to touch the food we left within easy reach; a dog we could trust around the delicate pieces of artwork throughout our house. (There was the mysterious disappearance of a hotdog off the hibachi at a 4^th of July cookout, but I’m still not sure it wasn’t eaten by one of the human family members...) Baxter earned our trust and that, among other things, made him an incredibly free, relaxed and easy dog to live with. 

Everyone in our lives who came to know Baxter – even those who didn’t particularly like dogs – were quickly won over by him. Baxter was a consummate diplomat, at the dog park and among humans as well. There was just something incredibly charming and disarming and goofy and completely non-threatening about him. If he sensed that anyone, dog or human, didn’t want him around, he took it on as his challenge to get them on his side. He managed to break down the defenses of some of the most grouchy dogs at the park (and a few people as well). Part of it was his gentle nature from the get-go. I'll never forget his first encounter with a toddler, on a hiking trail. Baxter was still a puppy, less than a year old at the time. We rounded a corner and he came face-to-face with a little girl, a pre-verbal toddler, who had managed to run ahead of her parents. The girl ran right up to Baxter without an ounce of fear, reached out and grabbed his big, brown nose with her little hand. Baxter just stood there. He wasn't afraid, he didn't jump or try to play with her as he might have done with us. He just calmly waited as the little girl giggled. Finally his eyes rolled up to look at us as if to say "it will be nice when this nose-squeezing stops...can you help that along perhaps?" From then on, babies, toddlers and children of all energy levels were immediate friends.

Baxter had a way of looking at you, directly in the eyes, with an earnestness and an inquisitiveness that felt like he was reading your mind. That look was never confrontational. Rather, it felt like he was striving to connect with you, to understand you – to read your words, your intentions, your wishes. He did seem to comprehend human language better than any dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and he usually responded to our thoughts and spoken words with an uncanny accuracy that further demonstrated his level of understanding. I could go on for hours about all the words and even concepts he understood. I think I sometimes took his communication intelligence for granted because it was just such a part of who he was. I’m realizing now just how rare that is, among people and dogs. And I realize how much he served as a dog-human translator for Kirby.

There is so much more I could say about Baxter and his life with us, but most of it is already here, in the blog entries over the past six years. I want to celebrate Baxter’s life somehow. Perhaps this blog is part of it, celebrated over time. And I’m glad that I spent a lot of time appreciating him while he was alive, even more so during the past couple of years. Baxter still had an incredible joie de vivre, but the changes that come with age were apparent. He was slowing down. And while I missed the energetic, lively, athletic dog of his youth, I grew even more deeply attached as we moved into the soulful calm of his senior years. There is something about a dog who just knows how the world works. Nothing rattled him (except the neighbor cat, still). And he seemed so perfectly happy to just be with us, to pad around the house following us from room to room, to nap with his head on Jamie’s shoulder every afternoon, to curl up on the couch at my feet every evening.

I knew every inch of that dog. I studied him, held him, spent countless hours stroking his wiry brown-gray coat, looking into his expressive eyes and caressing the soft hair on his head and ears. I miss those times. I miss hearing his breathing – even his snoring – when we go to sleep at night. I miss his big brown nose and his giant pink tongue, lolling out the side of his mouth on a hot day. I miss the sound of his dog tags jingling as he shook-off a nap. I miss how he insisted on standing in the yard smelling the wind when I was impatiently waiting for him to do his late-night business. I miss the paw on my lap and the earnest stare that told me it was time to get up from my desk and go outside. I miss the impish, playful glance and the bay-like howl that let me know it was play time. I miss his warmth. I miss his energy. I miss his earnestness. I miss his presence.

I still have a hard time coming to grips with the fact that he is no longer with us. Sometimes I forget, just for a second, and expect him to come along with Kirby to greet me when I come in the door. Sometimes I can feel his presence. One evening, before bed, I looked up at the stairway landing and I saw him there, just for a second, looking down at me. It felt so real, and so fleeting. I don’t want these apparitions to ever go away. At the same time, I hope Baxter’s soul is at peace. And I take comfort in knowing that he is with me in all the wonderful memories of our time together.

Baxter Henri Campagnard will always have a special place in my heart.

Baxter's 13th Birthday

Still handsome.

Scruffy Dog Kudos: Organix Grain-free Dog Food from Castor & Pollux

Baxter

Ages since I've posted. Broken record, right? Well, I thought this was worth mentioning...

A friend sent me a link today to yet another frightening story about toxic pet foods imported from China that are resulting in much suffering and death of dogs around the country. It's frightening. And it underscores how the great power of global trade also comes with a great responsibility to ensure the quality and safety of items we import from other countries. For me it drives home how important it is to know where ALL of our food comes from. Or at least to have a pretty good idea of it.

"Buy organic and local whenever possible" has been a practice I've tried to stick to for human food for a long time. But unless I cook my own dog food, it's much harder to know what Baxter and Kirby are getting. I barely have time to cook my own people food (note how infrequently I blog these days...no coincidence...), so cooking separate, highly meat-oriented dog food for the canines isn't likely to happen any time soon.

So the next best thing, for us, is purchasing high-quality pet food and treats. Also, because of Baxter's issues with grain, we need to be very careful that none of the dog food that we buy has any grain in it at all (not even rice). Some might think this is excessive, but Baxter had recurrent ear infections and horrible skin allergies for seven years, even when we were feeding him lamb and rice and special allergy formula foods from the veterinarian.

On the advice of a different, holistic, veterinarian, we took him off ALL grain six years ago (see this post from 2006) and I'm happy to report that Baxter has not had one skin allergy problem or ear infection since. NOT ONE. And we've had him on several different grain-free foods. It really does make a difference. 

So I was excited when one of our favorite local pet product companies, Castor & Pollux, began offering grain-free versions of their Organix pet food. I've been waiting for them to offer organic, grain-free food for years. When our local New Seasons market, where we do most of our people-food shopping, started carrying it a few months ago we decided to give it a try.

Kirby

First, I have to say this food passed the Baxter and Kirby taste test with flying colors. Kirby is always enthusiastic about dinner, but Baxter usually takes his time and hasn't been very enthused with mealtime for a few years now. Since switching to the Organix grain-free kibble and canned food (we mix a small amount in) he has been right there with Kirby at meal time, waiting for the "go" signal so he can plow into it immediately. He hasn't been this excited about food in years. Even with other canned food mixed in.

Health-wise, the food seems to be good for both of them. Both dogs have shiny coats, no skin issues and excellent bills of health from the vet. Baxter's digestion, which faced a few challenges after a dozen years on the planet, is now in perfect working order. That alone was worth the switch.

And I've been happy to purchase from a local, Oregon company. It's the first time I've ever purchased dog food at our local food market (I have to say, though, New Seasons is no ordinary market). Anyway, it's HANDY.

So, the last question for me about the Castor & Pollux food was origin. Today I sent them an email asking about where they source their ingredients and linking to the article on Chinese imported pet foods. I was impressed that I got a very nice and thorough reply within a few hours:

Over 95% of our ingredients are from the US and Canada, but sometimes the highest quality is from other countries.  Our chicken is from here in the United States and our lamb is from New Zealand, but none of [our] meats or veggies are from China.  All our ingredients are tested upon arrival, samples are tested throughout production, and all finished product is tested for toxins and contaminants before we release it for sale.  The quality and safety of our food is our #1 priority and we would never compromise our commitment to the wellbeing of our four-legged family members by using anything less than the best available ingredients in their food.

I'm taking their word for it. Why? Because they have earned my trust. We've always had great experiences with their other pet products and now with their Organix grain-free foods. They responded to me quickly and thoroughly. And I know where they are. I can drive there and look them in the eye if I want to. And that's close enough for me.

The Frustrations of Age

Every time I see Baxter trotting along the beach with absolute glee I am reminded that age need not diminish one's joie de vivre. When we took the dogs to the coast last week, both Baxter and Kirby sprinted with glee as soon as we removed their leashes. But this time out, like the last couple of times, Baxter's sprint was short-lived and he soon settled into an easy lope.   

For a 12-1/2 year old dog, Baxter can still cover a lot of ground pretty quickly, as long as he can run straight ahead, but anything that requires a quick turn is problematic. At the beach, when a couple of younger dogs approached and wanted to instigate a chase, Kirby was quick to take them up on their offer. Baxter, however, seems to have finally resigned to the fact that he just can't play like that anymore. He gave the dogs a playful look and the slightest play-bow, then just took a couple of steps and stopped to watch the action as the younger dogs circled around us. I could hear a hint of a whimper coming from him. He so wanted to engage in that chase, but his hips just said "no way."

It is hard to watch a dog that still has so much verve being held back by his aging body. He can still get up on the couch (thanks to a step my husband made), but we now need to lift him into the car. We've started giving him S3 chews, which seem to have helped put a little more spring in his step, and aspirin (OK'd by the vet for occasional use) seems to ease his discomfort when he obviously over-does it at the beach.

But in the past couple of weeks, for the first time since he was a small puppy, Baxter has been hesitant to climb the stairs. My husband and I each have offices in the upper level of our house, so every morning the dogs dutifully follow us upstairs and then the dogs make the rounds from one office to the other throughout the day. But lately, instead of following us, Baxter stays downstairs and after a few minutes he barks with a rather shrill tone, as if to say "hey, you guys left me down here!" When we go down to see what's the matter, he just stands there at the base of the stairs, as if he were waiting for something. With a little encouragement, he then makes his way up the stairs along with us, and he moves surprisingly well.

I don't know if he's feeling pain or if he's just not confident that his legs won't buckle and he wants someone there to go up the stairs with him, just in case. Either way, he doesn't seem to be suffering any ill effects once he gets on level ground. But all this just serves to remind me that Baxter is getting older, that despite the eagerness of the front half of his body, he does have some arthritis and nerve issues with his hips and back legs and they just don't work like they used to. It is clearly frustrating to him. And, frankly, it is frightening for me. At times it's all I can do to keep my mind from racing to the inevitable.

I was encouraged when the vet told us that, other than his hindquarters, the rest of Baxter's body is very healthy for his age. He eats well, poops well (which sounds gross unless you are a dog person...we know), sleeps well and still likes to play from time to time. He loves lying down on the patio next to me on warm summer days when I take my laptop outside. He revels in his morning walk which isn't quite as fast as it used to be (but I'm enjoying the lack of pulling). These are the things I hang onto, when my mind starts racing forward. 

Baxter is still Baxter. He loves life. And I love every minute I spend with him.

Baxter, Kirby and Jennifer in The Bark

This morning I received an email notifying me that our picture is featured on The Bark in their "Me and My Dog" section... Woohoo! Our 15 minutes of scruffy dog fame!

Special thanks to Jamie Newton for the great photography and to mother nature for a perfect day at the beach.

Canine Ennui and Too Much Pluie

Baxter - photo by Jamie Newton

 Long, cold, rainy days mean neither the dogs nor I get our usual exercise.  I have no excuse, as I have a gym membership. The dogs, however, are pretty much stuck inside except for brief forays out to the side lawn. Poor dogs. They have a hard time convincing me to leave my desk and take them for a walk in the rain. I don't melt. I own Gore-tex clothing (after all, I am an Oregonian). No, mostly it's just that I don't really enjoy walking the dogs in the rain... putting on the gear, sloshing through puddles, trying to see between the water spots on my glasses, waiting as the dogs take their sweet time finding just the right spot to do their business, bending down with a poo-bag as rivulets of water cascade over the edge of my raincoat's hood, returning home with muddy feet and realizing I've forgotten to leave a towel by the door...again. I have nothing against rain, mind you. It makes the garden grow. I just get a bit growly about it when there's a tad too much during these short, dark winter days.  And I get even growlier when I don't get in my exercise. So it's a growly feedback loop of sorts. 

The dogs, on the other hand, just exhibit ennui. They pad around, pick up toys and drop them, gaze out the window, pad around some more and, mostly, sleep. I didn't realize just how bad it had become until the rain stopped for a bit the other day and the dogs got a good walk (with my husband while I was engrossed in a work project). They came in all full of excitement. Baxter chased Kirby around the living room and up the stairs, they played keep-away and tug-o-war and both of them were spinning and hopping with genuine glee. They FINALLY got some exercise!

Of course, playful Baxter, who briefly forgot his age, paid for it later. He seemed a tad stiff. But at least he didn't have that look of ennui in his eyes anymore.

I did. So I finally stepped away from the computer and went to the gym.  I didn't return all spinning and gleeful, but I was a tad less growly. Today I suddenly noticed it wasn't dark at 5:00 and that made me feel better too.

RESULTS: Lumps and Life III

The veterinarian just called with the results of the pathology report on Baxter's lump -- it was BENIGN! The tumor turned out to be a hemangioma (not a hemangiosarcoma, which was the worst case scenario), and the removal of it is curative.  He said they got it all and there's no reason to expect it would return. While it looks considerably different than a lipoma (it's a blood vessel tumor) it's just one of those random lumps dogs sometimes get. 

Needless to say, we are all very relieved around here. Baxter, who has seemed entirely back to his normal, earnest, goofy self for the past several days, has no idea why I keep showering him with extra hugs and kisses this morning. But he seems fine with it.

Whew!

Lumps and Life II

Baxter is doing his best "dog-shui" -- the art of placing himself right where I want to walk. He does this all the time, but today, as I gingerly step over him, I cringe slightly. I am looking down at a big, blue neck wrap and a couple of large, shaved patches on his back and hip, each with 3-4" lines of stitches. Baxter is in a remarkably good mood, all things considered.

Monday he went in to the veterinarian for several procedures: a dental cleaning, extraction of an abscessed tooth and removal of a few of his lumps. Lipomas -- or benign fatty tumors -- are fairly common in older retriever-type dogs, and Baxter has sprouted quite a few of them over the past few years. Our veterinarian does the occasional needle biopsy and usually just leaves them alone as long as they're not otherwise interfering with the dog's health. But because of the placement of a few of Baxter's lumps, our vet said he would take the opportunity to remove them if there were another reason to go under anesthesia. The bad-looking tooth needed to be handled, so Baxter went in for the works on Monday.

I always worry when anyone has to go under anesthesia. In this case I was even more worried due to Baxter's age -- he will be 12 in April. Thank goodness the surgery went well. When we picked him up Monday night Baxter was a bit bleary-eyed and the pain killers made him sway a bit when he was trying to stand still, but he ate, drank water and slept like a log. By yesterday morning, he seemed almost normal -- so much so that we had to keep him from running up the stairs and pulling on his leash when going outside (he's on exercise restriction due to a large lipoma on his hip that had some muscle involvement).  Today, without painkillers, it's pretty much Baxter as usual.

Our main concern now is that one of the lumps in Baxter's neck was not a lipoma -- the vet was surprised to see that it was a completely different type of tumor which he could not definitively identify with their equipment. He sent it off to a pathology lab and we should get the results by the end of this week. It could be benign, in which case having it removed means he's out of the woods on that one. If it's malignant, then the type of tumor will dictate next steps. Baxter's blood work was excellent and he has shown no signs of feeling unwell prior to or after the surgery, so that's a good sign that it may be localized and not too invasive.

Still, I am working very hard not to worry. Worry, it seems, comes almost as easily to me as breathing. Keeping it at bay requires conscious acts of self-control and/or complete distraction. Seeing Baxter recovering so quickly, with his sweet, mellow disposition and continued enthusiasm for little things like eating, going outside and being invited up onto the couch, is inspiring to say the least.

So my goal is to stay positive and keep my focus on helping Baxter stay comfortable, heal quickly and come through this as strong and healthy as possible. Any and all good wishes and positive vibes are welcomed!

Gray Friday and Electric Santa

This year, in the spirit of giving thanks for all that I have in my life, I have decided to part with some of it.  Instead of Black Friday, a day of acquisition, this year I had Gray Friday: a day of pulling out dusty boxes, still packed from the past two home moves, and going through their contents.  There was a small part of me that thought "you haven't even considered this stuff for the past three (or, in some cases, nine) years, why don't you just haul it all to the dump?" But the better parts of me -- the sentimental part, the maybe-someone-less-fortunate-could-use-this part, the what-if-this-old-thing-is-worth-something-on-eBay part and, of course, the just-plain-curious part -- just couldn't let things go without having a look.

Gray Friday has paid off in spades. I'm not sure how I got by for all those Christmases without Electric Santa. I've had Electric Santa since I was a little girl. Somehow he became separated from all of the other Christmas stuff and emerged just yesterday from a box filled with a mix of old holiday and non-holiday items. Nothing else in the box mattered much to me, but finding Electric Santa just made my day -- and my whole holiday season -- a little brighter. He's now glowing on the window ledge above my desk and every time I look up at him I can't help but smile. Just the right amount of kitsch and childhood nostalgia.

Another nostalgic find was the box filled with a few of Baxter's things, including his puppy collar. It was sooooo small. It was expandable, but even so, I think he outgrew it in a month. I felt pangs of sadness finding his hiking backpack, though. While Baxter still hikes with gusto and manages to stay a few yards ahead of us all the way, with his arthritic hips we wouldn't dare load him down with any weight. It's been years since any of us has been backpacking... But I think I'll wait until spring to unload the box that says "backpacks and camping equipment."

My Dad used to joke that "three moves are as good as a fire." It's true in terms of being able to find anything. Stuff just gets lost...usually among the boxes that aren't unpacked for so long you forget about them. But unlike a fire, recovery is often possible and sometimes found items feel like blessings from the past. One of those blessings was finding a "lost" box filled with Dad's rock carvings. My dear father passed away in 2006. For a number of years he and Mom were snowbirds, escaping Iowa's cold to spend the winters in slightly warmer Sedona, Arizona. Inspired by petroglyphs he saw while hiking there, Dad took up the hobby of carving similar designs into slabs of beautiful, red Sedona sandstone. He gave them away as gifts. In one of our past moves, the ones he gave us were lovingly wrapped in towels and packed away in a box that somehow ended up in the back of a closet somewhere. Yesterday I found them. It was as if Christmas came early. And as I gleefully unwrapped each stone, I thought of Daddy and smiled.

I've only just begun the excavation (archeological dig is more like it). But the whole process so far has really made me think about what is meaningful and what is just a passing fancy. Some of the items I purchased years ago, thinking they were so necessary at the time, are now sitting in the box that's bound for the Goodwill store.  But seemingly insignificant things, like the little red box of white, lick-and-stick paper reinforcements I used for making crafts as a child (and not nearly as often for reinforcing hole-punched paper) took me back to my pre-school days. That's a keeper.

I'm realizing that in most cases, the value of an item is, for me, in the memories I've attached to it. There's no price on eBay that's worth as much to me as plugging in my Electric Santa.

The Dog Sofa

We recently gave up on the "no dogs on the living room sofa" policy. For years it worked just fine, as Baxter would sit or stand next to the couch and put his head on my lap. Enter Kirby, who is too small to do that. It started when we decided it was only fair to let Kirby come up sometimes, as long as he was on someone's lap. The hang-dog looks from Baxter were unbearable. So we got a throw and made the rule: you can get up here, as long as the throw is down and there's a human on the sofa with you.  This is working pretty well, and the dogs usually ask before they jump up. Only once have we caught a dog on the couch when we walked in the door (Baxter). We forgot to fold up the throw. He just assumed... Anyway, it's a dog couch now.

Now the jostling for position begins. There is plenty of room for all three of us up there (Baxter, Kirby and me), but if Kirby manages to get up there first, he stretches out his little body as long as he possibly can, so there's no room for the considerably larger Baxter to lay down. I usually have to pull Kirby out of the way to make room. But the other night Baxter took things into his own hands...

Welcome Vito!

A puppy has joined our extended pack... No, he's not exactly scruffy, but he is the new canine in the family of our dear friends (whose sweet Portuguese Water Dog and honorary scruffy, Phoebe, passed away last November...RIP Phoebe, we miss you terribly.)

Enter Vito. Adorable. He's an 8-week-old Lagotto Romagnolo and we had the pleasure of meeting him this past weekend. Not only is he brimming with cuteness, he's also one of the sweetest, most laid-back puppies I've ever met. He has an almost Baxter-like expression -- inquisitive, he looks you right in the eye in a totally non-threatening way, as if he's trying to discern what you are thinking.

I'm probably taken in by the resemblance as well...He looks a bit like puppy Baxter with a body perm... They likely share some DNA, as the all of the modern European water retrieving dogs are believed to decend from the ancient Lagotto.

Photos of Vito at 8 weeks and Baxter at 10 weeks.

In any case, stay tuned for more posts...my husband's camera has not yet been mined and the forthcoming YouTube video will melt you. Really.

Lumps and Life

Baxter is an elegant dog. He has always been a tad tall for his breed, Wirehaired Pointing Griffon, but his long legs and lean body create a perfectly balanced and graceful form beneath his scruffy hair. Baxter is a dog who looks as good wet as he does dry (Kirby, on the other hand, rather needs the fluffy hair). But as he's gotten older, Baxter's beautiful tweedy coat has camouflaged his increasing lumpiness. Thank goodness, the vet tells us these lumps are only lipomas -- benign, fatty growths that are quite common in older dogs, particularly retrievers and other hunting dogs.

It's very hard for me to admit Baxter is getting old. On April 4 he will turn 11 -- he is, most definitely, in his golden years. But he has so much energy, such joie de vivre, it's sometimes hard to see the signs of age. But they're there. When I run my hands down his sides, I feel the landscape of a half-dozen lumps beneath his skin. More on his neck, his chest, down his thighs. All covered by that glorious hair.

The vet always takes meticulous measurements to ensure none are growing at a rapid rate that might suggest some other form of tumor. So far, nothing to worry about, he says. I hope so. I just wish there was something I could do. Some way I could hold off the inevitable decline that begins with a few lumps and the occasional shaky back leg. I don't want to see my boy grow old. I want him to always be the spry, athletic, goofy yet soulful pup I've known and loved for the past decade-plus.

Among other things, one lesson I learned from my father's death is that we must cherish every moment we have with our loved ones. But I sometimes forget this. I too often take my family members -- including our dogs -- for granted. When I get done working, doing all those important things I need to get done, I just know they'll be there.

But they won't.

So today I took a nap with the dogs. Something I haven't done in a while. I stepped away from the computer and curled up next to Baxter on the floor. He stretched and nestled into the crook of my arm. Kirby curled up next to my leg. And we snoozed.

Pure bliss.

Baxter and Kirby on Cat Watch

Jamie captured this quiet, watchful moment this morning on our patio. I love this picture!

Feeding Tigerchen, Baxter's Nemesis

We've been asked to feed Tigerchen (aka Tiger or Baxter's nemesis, the orange neighbor cat who prances around behind our house while Baxter sits inside whining) while Tiger's family is away this weekend. I am certain we'll get the 3rd degree each time we come home...Will Bax ever forgive us?

Baxter's obsession with Tiger has gone a bit too far. Our back window is, essentially, Tiger TV. Baxter will sit there for HOUR ON END at full attention, watching Tiger saunter back and forth, roll in the lawn, weave in and out of the bushes. The other day Kirby actually flushed Tiger out from under a shrub and both he and Baxter went crazy as Tiger took off, hissing. (So I hear, I wasn't there, but now every time we go outside both Baxter and Kirby have to examine that shrub just in case...)

Tiger is a young cat. We're not moving any time soon. Will this obsession with Tiger ever wear off? I seriously doubt it. Baxter had a similar "relationship" with our neighbor cat Lucky in our first home. Baxter actually caught Lucky once and then didn't know what to do...He just stood there, frozen, awe-struck by his own luck.

All I can say is, I hope our screen door on this house is stronger than the screen door on that one.

Happy 10th Birthday, Baxter!

It's hard to believe that today is Baxter's 10th birthday. It doesn't seem possible that nearly a decade has gone by since we fell in love with that adorable, scruffy puppy. And yet, Baxter is such an integral part of our family, it's hard to remember what life was like before he was around!

I've said this so often, but Baxter really is the sweetest dog I have ever known. I've loved all our dogs and quite a number of other peoples' dogs as well. But Baxter is special in a way that people only understand when they get to know him. I've seen family members and friends raise their eyebrows when we talk about him that way. I understand. Everyone's dog is special to them. But I've also seen those same family members and friends spend some time with Baxter and end up saying the same things to other people. He's a unique individual, an incredibly soulful, sweet, trustworthy, goofy, loving and intuitive dog. He charms people. He gets along with everybody and nearly every dog. Ok, he likes to chase cats, but he never hurts them when he catches them. (He is, after all, a dog.) But he's just, well, special.

In honor of Baxter's special day, we took the dogs to bigger dogpark a ways from where we live. While we have a nice dogpark here, we used the excuse of a lovely, sunny day to get a little change of scenery. Baxter romped and wrestled with a very cute, scruffy Airedale, then proceeded to roll in the mud and get totally filthy from head to toe. He had a great time. Kirby spent his time trying to befriend a little dachsund who didn't want anything to do with him. But he got in a bit of romping and wrestling as well. We hadn't really planned on giving the dogs baths today, but alas... At least both Baxter and Kirby smell good now!

We topped off the day by giving them each an antler to chew on and a helping of Baxter's favorite soft dog food: Grammy's Pot Pie . It was gone in about 15 seconds. Better than cake. For a dog anyway!

Happy 10th Birthday, Baxter...and MANY more!!!

Blustery Beach: The Movie

Video of Kirby's first trip to the beach.