A Boston Terrier Birthday

We're celebrating Chet Baker's fourth birthday with a retrospective of his puppehhood. When Jane Streett, Chet's breeder, sent us this snapshot, we swooned for hours. Days. Weeks. Put him on a bun and serve him up.You see, I formed such an instant bond with Jane at Pups Will Travel in our first phone conversation that we bought our doggeh online, nay, in utero!! and didn't meet him in person for nine weeks. I liked Jane's philosophy. She breeds for temperament and sound conformation, working overtime to keep her line free of genetic defects and her puppies full of good humor and intelligence. She liked mine, especially the parts about the 80-acre nature sanctuary and the hikes in the woods and the two sweet kids and my working at home. Not to mention the fact that Bill had been bugging me to get a dog for 13 years, and I had finally decided I was ready. Notice in this picture how Liam is holding his hands. The Bacon, like most puppies, was a tad on the chewy-nippy side to start with. He tried but ultimately failed to attain a pack rank right below Phoebe but above Liam. Nope, you're bottom rung, buddy. But you'll like bottom rung.

I tried like crazy to hide my online machinations from Phoebe, but she was too smart for me, and busted me six days before Chet was even born. She started giving me even more spontaneous hugs than usual, and showed just a little too much interest in a Boston terrier in a dog show on TV ("Mommy, I really LIKE those dogs!" This, from a kid who'd been buggin' me for a golden retriever for two years...) and I got suspicious that she had been reading my email. Sure enough. I walked into the studio one day and caught her pirouetting around, eyes closed, whispering, "I'm getting a PUPPY!!!" I had wanted to surprise the kids at Christmas with a photo of him, wrapped up in a box under the tree, but instead we got to anticipate Chet's birth together, which was way more fun.

Phoebe at 8, the old soul. Would you buy this sweet girl a puppy? Yeah, me too.

Finally, on December 12, 2004, we got the email we'd been waiting for. Chili Bean had delivered her first litter, just two babies. And we had second pick. We waited anxiously to hear which puppy went to the family with first pick. But the kids had already decided that the little black puppy with one white glove was the one they wanted. Fingers were crossed...
photo by Jane Streett

Sometimes things work out. We got the one with the black neck. Kind of looks like his mammy, don't he? As you can see, Chet was a home-bred dog, born not in a kennel or a manger, but in Jane's home. He was therefore spoiled rotten from Hour One. Here he is not quite a month old, January 5, 2005.Photo by Jane Streett. I requested a picture of Chet's belly meat and she came through. Had to make sure he had a tasty brisket. It was killing us to wait until he was weaned and ready in mid-February! The kids and I drove over to eastern PA and picked him up on the morning of February 17, 2005. I can't remember any drive to the East Coast before or since that went that fast. We flew on wings of anticipation.

Chet on Day One at Indigo Hill, wearing his tube sock sweater. Superdog! My musical hub Bill of the Birds named him within a few minutes of seeing his first picture. "I've always wanted to name a dog Chet Baker," he said, and that was that.I can't resist another tube sock shot. Even though it's more like a sausage casing...I have to say he was a rather appealing puppy. Just the thing for a 46-year-old mother of two with a relapse of of chronic baby fever. A puppeh who looks like a babeh ought to do it.Yep, that babydog pushes every one of my buttons. And yes, I stayed home with him, trying to absorb every molecule of his cuteness, and I'm still here. Stayed home for my kids, stayed home for the dog, did it for me, too.

And now that puppy, four years later, is asleep on my coat in the chair right next to me as I write. And I do not know what I would do without him. I run my hand over his satiny back and he gives a rattling dog sigh of contentment, and I think about this animal that we have bred to want nothing more than to keep our company. And I think about the things that humans have developed: The Sistine Chapel ceiling fresco, the Chunnel, Swarovski EL binoculars, trigeneric orchid hybrids, creme brulee and the Boston terrier, to name just a few. They are surely among our finest works.
Thank you, Jane.

Happeh Birthday, Chet Baker!

Newborn Bacon!! Ennh!  Photo by Jane Streett

On Friday, December 12, 2008, Chet Baker turned four. It's hard to believe our puppeh is now 28 in people years--a young man in his prime. We did not have a formal party this year, being swept up in a great deal of holiday-related splup, but he did get an Orca chew toy, a lunch of Hamburger Rice Dinner (HRD), and about two hundred extra kisses.

I thought it would be good to take a look at Chet Baker as a newborn. I can hear the squeals from most every state in the Union and a few foreign countries... The only way you can tell it's Chet is the Michael Jackson glove on his right forepaw. It is hard to believe that this small weaselly creature will ever grow up to be my heartbeat. Like any mother, however, I was in love from the first look.
Photo by Jane Streett

As you can see in this photo of a week-old Chet Baker, the Tennessee turd-tail is intact, even though Chet is barely a handful at this point. Most Boston terriers are born with a naturally short "screw tail;" they get that from their bulldog genes. People who see Chet's gorgeous oversized stand-up ears are surprised to learn that there are no knives involved there, either. They're perfect from the get-go. Don't get me started on cropping dogs' ears. We just won't go there on my shiny happy blog.

Baker plumped up nicely. Here he is on January 5, 2005.

Photo by Jane Streett

I cannot say that he has been nice to a cat since this picture was taken February 8 '05, however.Man, has he got the domed forehead workin'.           Photo by Jane Streett

Beautiful Garbonzo gives a foretaste of Chet's future glory in this picture. They're not related, but they could be by their looks. What beautiful dogs Jane keeps.

Chet is only pretending to be submissive in this picture. He is a little bossyboots.

Photo by Jane Streett

Next: Some More Puppeh Pictures of Chet Baker. I'm doling them out in two doses so your teeth don't fall out from the sweetness. Those of you who are not a soupy mass of doughnut batter at the prospect of more chubby Chetter, just hang on. There will be more Guyana birds and animals coming up Tuesday night.

Chet's Party

Chet Baker does not usually have a place at the kitchen table. Well, not a place with a dinner setting. He does like to sit in an empty chair and watch us eat. On his birthday, however, he gets to eat with us. These pictures are from his birthday party. Our friend Jeff Gordon was visiting from Delaware, so it was extra festive. It was a modest birthday party, with a nice meal and presents wrapped in newsprint. It was a dog birthday party. Chet Baker turned three on December 12, 2007.Are you sure it is all right for me to get up in this chair? There is some turkey burger on that plate there.
Oh, thank you, Sister. Turkey burger, squash and lima beans is quite a nice meal for me.Mmm, mmm.
I am saving the butternut squash for last. I love it when Mether makes it with vanilla, cinnamon and almond extract, with a touch of fresh ground nutmeg. And I appreciate the Portmeirion.

I still cannot believe nobody has told me to get down. I had better finish this off quickly before Daddeh comes to his senses and says something in that big voice. I do not like his big voice.

I love this kitteh they gave me. And I got all its guts out in less than an hour.

Note from Mether: The stuffed toy with the beady eye is Orangefeet, a mallard duckling puppet, Phoebe's familiar since she was two. Chet would no more chew Orangefeet than he would growl at Oona. He knows all the rules, and understands. Interestingly, he likes to use my Ugly Doll "Big Toe" as a pillow, but has never once chewed it. I do keep my alpaca teddy bears out of reach. Even the best doggeh can be tempted, and even Chet Baker falls from grace now and then. If you need a laugh about now, and who doesn't? please click here for Chet being Bad.

Happeh birthday to me, Chet Baker, luckiest dog in the world.

Chet Baker is Three!

Today is Chet Baker's third birthday. I can't believe it. Three years ago today, I was absolutely popping with the knowledge that our puppy had been born. I had thought to keep the secret until Christmas, but as Chili Bean's pregnancy wore on, I popped, too, and told the kids, and they were in on the e-mails flying between me and Jane about the labor and birth. Only two puppies were born, and Chet was the big one. We had second pick of the litter, which meant that we got whichever puppy the first-comers didn't pick. It was a glorious and life-altering day when Jane e-mailed to tell us that the fat puppy with less white on his face was ours.

In honor of Chet's birthday, I will post a series of SnowDog photos. They seem to capture Chet's vitality and humor, as well as his blinding speed. This is a pretty shot. The conditions were tough, with very low light, so the pictures are blurry, but I like the strength and thrust of this pose.

He left a rooster tail of snow wherever he sped. I love this photo, the composition with the green toboggan.

A Santa's beard of snow on my puppeh as he banks around a turn.
Reveling in his speed, he schusses around the garage. He's his own canine snowmobile.
Joy shows in every line as he picks up speed and comes right at the photographer.The next three photos show Baker in full SnowGoogle.

Nobody grins like a Boston terrier.


Wait! There might be mice under the snow.
It's a good excuse to catch my breath, anyway.
The difference between Baker at three and Baker at one is that his snow-frisking periods are vastly shorter now. Boston terriers were not blessed when the Lord handed out fur coats. Chet has about the cold tolerance I do, stark naked. It wasn't long before the photo session was over; Chet skidded to a halt at the front door and stood, shivering, waiting for me to let him in.
I draped my parka over him and he settled down for a long winter's nap.
Happy birthday, sweet Chet Baker. We love you, Miracle Dog.