Hello all! Apologies for the hiatus! We have returned after a wee summer break in which we slaved over analytics and dog metrics in order to bring you the best possible Doggy Blog. As I said in a previous post, we've covered over 20 of your furry friends since rebooting the blog last fall and we wanted to use that milestone to reflect and figure out where to go from here. Ultimately, we decided to continue giving you the highest quality, dutifully researched, and of course 100% true stories about your puppers and doggos. And yes, before you flood our inbox with electronic mail, we will continue posting our uber popular Dogwalking 101 columns as well. You can also look forward to meeting some members of the Home Treat Away Team, dogs that we don't personally work with but still respect and aspire to rub the bellies of. Oh and lest we forget, there will be some Cameows from the glorious felines in our lives (#catsarepetstoo).
Phew, now that that's all taken care of we can check out a dog that I was SURE that I had covered before but apparently not. Due to my faulty memory, you are in for an ABSOLUTE treat today:
Not the type of whimsical creature you'd want to meet down a dark alley.
This is Baxter. A marvelous creature made of whimsy. He doesn't walk so much as he floats across the sidewalk. This may be due to potent magic bestowed on all creatures touched by the fey or because his mass is so low as to not be affected by the unflagging pull of gravity. I'm leaning towards the "touched by the fey" angle because of his heritage. He is, perhaps obviously, a teacup Yorkshire terrier. Yorkshire is a region of England. England is well known to contain pockets of great ancestral mysticism. Further, the name Baxter has very old Anglo-Saxon and Scottish roots, and I'm pretty sure when you combine those two regions a dragon battling a wizard pops out. Pretty damn magical. (I've also heard tell that Baxter means "baker" but that does not fit my narrative here so I'm completely ignoring it.)
Baxter, after changing his coloring through illusory magic.
So we've determined that Baxter is a being from another plane. BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN? Well I'll tell you what it means, in a convenient listicle detailing REAL THINGS that HAVE HAPPENED on our walks together:
- Baxter once vanished, only to return seconds later with a bag of precious jewels. We were strolling down a street in BEAUTIFUL Edgewater Glen (a made up neighborhood, but a very nice made up neighborhood) when I was distracted by a dragonfly shimmering in the sunshine. When my attention returned to Baxter he was gone, my leash laying limply on the pavement. Then the sound of a slide whistle burped out into the tranquil afternoon and Baxter was back. With a small burlap bag filled to bursting with emeralds, rubies, and garnets. A tiny crown sat cockeyed on his teeny head. I looked around to see if anyone else had seen us, then put the crown in the bag and the bag in my backpack. I ushered Baxter upstairs. I'm pretty sure that he apparated that dragonfly too.
- He made a bird burst into blue flames by looking at it. You can sort of tell the power of Baxter's gaze from that first picture, but the picture doesn't compare ONE IOTA to what it's like in person. He once winked at me and I felt compelled to go buy a pound and a half of ham and feed it to him slice by slice. Luckily, my willpower won out. The bird wasn't quite as lucky. It was ANOTHER gorgeous afternoon in Chicago and we were on a real banger of a stroll. Then: a mourning dove's distinctive "coo" rang out. Baxter's attention immediately turned to the nearest treetop. Seconds later, a bird shaped ball of blue flame appeared about 35 feet up. Seconds after that, it was gone. I again looked around and quickly ushered Baxter back to his keep.
- He recited "Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" by WB Yeats to me on a particularly melancholy, rainy walk. It was one of those typical summer days where it rains on and off for about 14 hours. Walking dogs is always a real treat, but in the rain the fun is a bit dampened (ha). My umbrella was getting battered about by the wind and rain and I won't lie to you, spirits were low. Baxter, unbelievably dry despite the monsoon besetting our walk, looked at me. His tongue, normally lolling out of his mouth rolled right back in and he cleared his throat. Before I knew what was happening, he was reciting the poem in pitch perfect English. Upon hearing "...But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams." a single tear fell down my cheek and the rain stopped. I stood flabbergasted. We hurried inside.
Baxter, compelling Eleanor to hold him.
The face of true power.
I know this all may seem far-fetched. But sometimes, when confronted with stories of eldritch power, one must drop all preconceived notions of natural law and accept the inevitable. I for one celebrate Baxter as a true spiritual guardian. Also, and please don't tell him I said this, but he is cute as a damn button. Here's to you Baxter, long may you watch over this mortal plane!
Sean