Remembering Baxter

It was two years ago today that I had to say goodbye to the best dog I've ever known. Most knew him simply as Baxter, but more often than not I'd find myself referring to him as "Goober" or "Baby Goob." A grade above special, Baxter was among the coolest canines I've encountered in my life. It seems only fitting to dedicate a portion of this New Year's Eve to honoring his memory, and so I will share just a few of the uniquenesses that made Baxter the incredible pup that he was.

Baxter couldn't jump. Or rather, he could... but he remained generally oblivious to this ability. When I'd invite him to join me for a ride in the Jeep [side note: "Jeep" was Baxter's second favorite vocabulary word; "walk" was his first], he'd prance wildly about, wagging his tail and ramming his head against my knees each time a new shiver of excitement coursed through him. And then, when the door to the Jeep was finally opened for him, my crazy pup would plant his front legs on the vehicle's back seat, turn his head to fix me with a look of enthusiasm, and silently implore, "Are you gonna help me with my backend or what?" The answer was always "Yes," of course; I always helped him with his backend.

Despite the fact that he was just about the friendliest dog in the whole entire world, Baxter was at the same time quite protective of me. My favorite "Baxter the Protector" story occurred while I was still living with my parents. My mom and I had been arguing about something--life after college, I think--and I was starting to get upset. [Another quick side note: my mom and I rarely argue; she's, like, my absolute favorite person and Baxter loved her nearly as much as I do.] Anyway... my wire-coated protector apparently sensed what I was feeling and planted himself on the floor between us, turning his back to my mom so that he could monitor me. At one point, my mom started to further emphasize the point that she'd been making, and I guess something must have changed in my expression because Baxter suddenly felt that I had reached my limit. Without repositioning his body, he very calmly glanced over his shoulder to face my mother. Then he issued a low growl. "Enough," that grumble warned. "That's enough." The behavior was so out of character that my mom had to laugh. "Okay, Baxter. You've made your point," I remember her saying to him. "I'm sorry." And that had been enough for him; within seconds, his tail was wagging again.

I could go on and on about that wacky Airedale terrier of mine, but I think I'll conclude by commenting on Baxter's adoration of cats. He positively loved cats. If we were out for a walk and one of the neighborhood's felines crossed our path, Baxter immediately wanted to greet it, and when we were home with our own trio of fur people, he was always eager to show his affection for them. He was a licker, Baxter was, and one of his favorite pasttimes was helping his cats to stay clean. Sam and Ernie were the most tolerant of his advances. They'd succumb to both the big paw that flattened them against the floor and the pink tongue that thoroughly saturated their faces with spit. Afterward, Sam and Ernie would have to initiate a series of headshakes in order to eliminate some of the excess saliva. Kind of gross, yes... but also adorable. Baxter took cleanliness quite seriously.

Oh, that Baby Goob... I miss him dearly and remember him fondly. He was with me for ten years--almost a third of my life--and not a day goes by that I don't think of him. I sure did love that guy.

I still do.