Taking Chet Baker along to Duck Creek raises the noise level considerably. There's the splash-splash-splash of his bounding through the shallows, the crack of his biting sticks into pieces (is that a mini Sasquatch wading in the stream??)
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the laughter at his attempts to swim
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(Awwwwww!!)
and the protests when he comes right up next to someone to shake himself dry.
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With, I'm sure, a few exceptions, Boston terriers are not much good in the water. It's hard to keep a short little nose clear of inundation. Chet spends a lot of time dithering about whether or not a pool is over his head. Forced to swim, he makes a good effort, but wastes a lot of energy panicking. I know the feeling; I'm a rotten swimmer. I'd like to think it's because we're both so densely packed with muscle.
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Pretty much everything Chet Baker feels shows on that little face.
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He'll do anything, even swim, to stay close to his people.
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Labels: Boston terrier, Boston terrier swimming, Chet Baker