Chet Baker, Baby Magnet

You gotta love this little cheesebox in her itty bitty Steelers dress and even tinier Krocs. Lookit those LEGS! The slightly bigger one is a piece of work, too. I like taking pictures of little kids as much as I like taking pictures of dogs, flowers and birds. They're in kind of short supply around our house.

There's something about the friendly, wide-open face of a Boston terrier that attracts adults and kids alike. They just look like nice doggies, perpetually puppylike and cute. And they are. Chet Baker loves little kids and babies; he strains at the leash to go greet them. At 2 1/2, he's ceased jumping up on people except when he's home and greeting them in the driveway or at the door. So there's little danger that he'll bowl anyone over, and parents appreciate that.
Chautauqua is a bastion of cute, cute babies, little pink bald babies, lots of strawberry blonde ones, and even one that was almost the spitting image of Phoebe, with wise ice-blue eyes and tufts of red hair. Her name was Maya, and I ate her up with my eyes, remembering. Of course I had no camera. Rats.
But I was armed and ready for this little Steelers fan. Oh, my. What an angel, set on earth. There are lots of folks from Pittsburgh up here.
This sweet little boy was enamored of Chet, but already had been taught enough about dogs to offer Chet the back of his chubby little hand to sniff before petting him. Babies know so much more than we give them credit for.
photo by Bill of the Birds

We're in what I dubbed the Dog Zone of the big open-air amphitheater at Chautauqua. It's over on the right side, and during a big concert there will be five to ten different dogs there, listening with their owners just outside the gates. I prefer hanging out in the Dog Zone to sitting on the hard wooden pews, because if we feel like having some ice cream, we can saunter off without offending anyone. Also, I am now a dog person.

It was really fun to have Chet up in New York with us. People enjoy meeting him and asking about him, and we enjoy introducing him to them, and to other dogs. The most common comment: What a nice little dog. I 'd like to have a dog like that. (Sure to make any dog owner glow inside.)photo by Bill of the Birds

This was Baker's third season at Chautauqua. He was just a puppy of 9 months when he first came here. He knows the apartment like the back of his paw, and it was hilarious to see him scoot down the stairs and charge around inside, remembering the place and its smells when we first arrived. He was ecstatic when we arrived and put his bed in the living room, because for the entire ride up (7 hours) he was apprehensive that we might just drop him off in the kennel on our way here. That dog thinks too much. He was to sleep all the way home, knowing the destination.Note taut leash. Most of the time, Chetty pulls so hard on that thing you could twang it like a banjo string. It's an UpCountry Lead. Man, those are nice leads and collars. Hard to go back to the cheap stuff when you've used them! His pattern is the lavender dragonfly, called Meadow. Phoebe thinks it's a bit fey, but I say he's man enough to wear lavender.

There are so darn many fancy dogs up here that I was sure we'd spotted my first duck-tolling retriever. But he turned out to be a golden retriever x border collie. Jeff Gordon, my personal dog guru, had him guessed right. Overall, Chet's been a perfect gentleman on this trip, at least when meeting strange dogs. I'm discouraged about his leash skills, though; he pulls like a husky no matter how many times I correct him with a sharp word and yank of the leash. Like, hundreds of times. Chet, no pull! (yank). Chet, no pull! (yank) CHET! NO PULL! (yank). Stop. Take him by the muzzle. Talk sternly to him. Resume walking. Chet! No pull! That's the sound track for our walks. I'm about desperate enough to get him a Halti collar, though I wonder whether it will work on his super-short nose. He is as strong as a husky, too. My arms are sore! Any tips on leash-straining dogs would be more than welcome. To save you time: We also try the ploy of stopping dead when he's straining hardest; of shortening up the leash the more he pulls, and even of turning around and going the opposite direction for awhile, then going the direction he wants to go when he stops pulling. Arggggh. I will not resort to a choke chain, or something that hurts him when he pulls. We probably wouldn't have this problem had I been willing to do that.

Footnote: I did make some progress in our last walk, when I pulled the leash straight up, momentarily lifting his front feet off the ground, every time he tightened up on it. That got his attention, and he was better after that. But, to allude back to Katdoc's training advice, which is never to try to make your dog other than what it was bred to be, I feel like I'm fighting a basic breed trait: boundless enthusiasm for life. It's part of what I love about Chet. And I think it's what makes him pull at the leash, so eager for the next experience. But man, I wish he'd shape up.

Now I'm going to sit back and collect advice from dog people. Let's see what y'all can do.

Twilight Porches

I don't generally think about hydrangeas much, until I come here. And then I realize what utterly cool plants they are. I even like the white ones when the flowers age into green. So structural, so textural. This, by the way, is the same place with several hundred bucks' worth of Salvia farinacea, and the fab hanging basket.

Fans of generous old Victorian homes are in hog heaven at Chautauqua. That group would include me. And if you like drowning in flowers, this is the place to visit. We had one, count it, one, evening while we were here when it wasn't raining, and we used it to best advantage. We strolled around the grounds as night came on, watching the colors of lilies and coneflowers, phlox and hydrangea shimmer in the dying light. When it gets dark enough you can't see the stems, and the flowers seem to float without visible support.The blues of night:matching perfectly the hydrangeas below, and the warm glow of incandescent lights:
The front porch is an art form at Chautauqua. People seem to be in competition for the Most Inviting Porch; the Best Decorated; the One You'd Most Like to Invade Quietly and Read On. Pass me a julep, Lovey. I'm sneaking in these two photos from last year, when the Lord let there be light. This year, pahhhhhh. Rain.
But my all-time favorite snapshot of a Chautauqua porch is this one, brought to my attention by the super-observant eyes of BOTB. Can you guess why? Hint: I DIDN'T set it up.

DogDock

Liam makes his way to Boys' Club. Such a big boy. This was before he learned to ride his bike. He didn't want to be seen using training wheels, so he walked. Lotta pride in that golden head.

If you're wondering why there's such a paucity of Liam and Phoebe pictures from this trip, it's because they were off to Boys and Girls' Club and hangin' with friends and rumbling around the grounds on their own. We barely saw them. After an entire summer of being with them around the clock, it was a great break for me, and them. I got some writing done; they got some socializing done, and spread their independent wings.

Little Chet Baker, on the other hand, spent all his time with me, and got hisself walked at Chautauqua. He was on a lead almost the whole time, except for rare stolen moments when I could let him loose without worrying about his running into a dog he might pick a fight with, or a cat he might tree, or a fancy garden he might barrel through in pursuit of a squirrel or chipmunk. He did get to chase two bunnehs, but it was right back on the lead afterward.
It is a particularly foolish feeling to have to follow your dog by the end of his leash along a stone wall as he roots around for the chipmunk he knows is in there. Snorf! Snorf! Please don't dig, Baker. Note turd-tail, straight out in excitement.Bill and Baker blur along the brick path coming down to Bestor Plaza.
One morning, right before it started raining again, Chet and I fit in a walk. I let him off the lead so he could explore the dock unimpeded.Thanks, Mether. I like docks. I like ducks, too.Come here, little duckie. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to pet you.
My favorite dogdock shot. Baker doesn't get to see water where we live, and he gazed out over it, thinking his dog thoughts, for a long time, until I called him to me.

Today, he slept all day, exhausted from a solid week of bad beds and disrupted schedules. God, I'd love to sleep all day like Baker can. The Fed-ex guy, who he loves, arrived, and Baker managed only a feeble tail wag. Couldn't even jump up for a kiss. The UPS truck rumbled up the driveway. Baker went a quarter of the way out the side walk, woofed twice, then watched idly as the delivery man climbed in the truck, turned around and rumbled away. Normally, he's dancing around on his hind legs, smiling and woofing. He came back to life around dusk though, as it cooled delightfully, and pestered us to throw his Air Dog toys until we had to put them away.

Home again, I've been deeply engrossed in clothing management. Four people for a week can make a mountain of laundry. I ponder the oddity of these cloth sheaths we have for our naked bodies, the weirdness of having to individually handle each piece six times, to put it in the washer, pull it back out, shake it out and hang it on the line, take it down, fold it, carry it to the right room, and then put it away. And how that can take all day. And why that should be, and why I do it so compulsively (well, that one's easy; if I don't, it piles up even worse). I wonder what would happen if I just quit, didn't mow the lawn or pick up clutter or wash dishes or sort mail or change the cage papers or sweep or vacuum. I guess we've all seen houses where that stuff doesn't get done. Mostly on Cops.