Monday, July 31, 2006

Baxter the Wonder Dog

So Baxter was my first experience with having a really, really large dog. I had lived with two dogs in my lifetime at that point, Samantha (named after BeWitched), a terrier mix that was somewhere around 20 pounds and Sasha, the anti-christ 4 pound Yorkshire Terrier. He was a gift from my manager at my job, and needless to say my parents were! not! happy! about it one bit.

He looked just like the dog from "Please Don't Eat the Daisies" (showing my age people). Baxter was an adorable puppy, and none of us were prepared for just how big he was going to get.

Thankfully my parents ran their own business and had a huge fenced in backyard. As Baxter grew he did not like to be in the house at all, and would cry every time he came in. The only time he did come in and was satisfied was when I slept. He would sleep in my doorway, never with me. We weren't used to dogs that didn't like to just sit in our laps and be cuddled, so this was a totally new experience.

He could also be out of the fence, and would walk the perimeter of their business as if guarding it. Considering we lived on a major four lane highway, this was amazing. Baxter knew what his property was, and he was their to protect it.

Problems started to arise when he was around a year old. I had moved out, but I would bring Baxter to my parents backyard while I was at work. Their Garden Center parking lot was right next to the fence. Baxter was fine as the customers came in and out, but he would hang on the fence looking so damn cute that people would want to pet him.

They always ignored the "DON'T PET THE DOG" signs or the "BEWARE OF DOG" signs, because he just looked so friendly. Well, as soon as that hand went over that fence, they entered Baxter's territory. This was not good people. Many a person almost lost their hand by doing that.

So Baxter was becoming more and more of a pain in the ass. He meant well, really he did. I have never in my life seen a dog more protective of his land or his family.

This didn't satisfy my parents who were scared to death that despite the signs they were going to get sued or someone was going to seriously get hurt.

So an extension was put on the fence on the parking lot side, paid for by yours truly (damn tough love parents), and the problem was solved. My bank account took a spanking, but my dog was allowed back in the fence.

Then the day came that made me a true believer in big dogs for the rest of my life.

I had painted my apartment and was staying with the parental units for a weekend while the fumes cleared out. It was hot outside, so staying there with windows open would be torture. Some friends and I painted all day late into the night.

I drove my tired ass to my parents house to get a shower and some beautiful air conditioning. Baxter had stayed their the whole time, because painting would not! be! fun! with a 150 pound sheepdog in the mix.

I pulled into the dark parking lot and got out of my car. Now one thing you learn when you live on a major highway that stretches coast to coast is their are some really weird fucking people that travel at night.

Well one of these weird fucking people came out of no where and grabbed my arm.

"What are you doing here girly-girl?"

I can still hear that phrase in my nightmares every once in awhile.

Now I've always thought I was a tough chick that could take care of myself, but I learned that night that when a man that out weighs you by probably 60 pounds wants to drag you somewhere, he is probably going to be able to do it. I also learned that the mace on my keychain was pretty much useless when he had my arms bound to my side by his shear force.

He pulled me towards him and wrapped his hand around my mouth. I fought against him with all my might, but it was furtile. He was just to strong.

He was dragging me to the back of the garden center when I heard it. This low, rumbling growl. Baxter had went to the side of the fence that didn't have an extension, jumped it, jumped into my neighbors yard, jumped that fence, and then ran down the street to get back to our parking lot.

I had never seen dog attack a person before. Baxter clamped on to the guy's thigh and he let me go, trying to get the dog off of him. I ran like hell to my parents house screaming my head off, my parents woke up, police were called, and the man, about half dead from what my dog continued to do to him until the police showed up, was arrested and taken to the hospital.

My cute, beautiful sheepdog was now red instead of white, and treated like a king amoung kings after that incident. It still makes me want to throw up thinking about what might have happened if he wasn't there. It ended up the man was wanted for rape in a couple of states and a possible homicide.

Baxter was only 2 years old when he disappeared. You see, after this incident he learned he could "be free" by jumping the fences. Now if we let him out of the fence he would walk the perimeter of our property and never, ever leave it. But once he was outside of that area, he was just gone.

So a couple of times we caught him coming back home. A couple of times the police called us from a couple of miles away to please come get him. Everyone knew Baxter as he was a bit of a local hero, but the cops also saw what he did to that horrible man and were scared to death of him. They would patiently follow him with their car until we went and got him.

The fencing people were coming to put an extension on that side of the fence the day that Baxter didn't come home.

Frantic searches to shelters and the police being on alert for him turned up nothing. It was like he disappeared into thin air. About the only thing we can think of is someone opened up their car door and he got in. Once he was away from his property he was fine with people, and he loved going in the car.

I like to think that a nice family took him home and he lived out his life on some big farm running and playing. I don't believe I could stay sane if I didn't hold on to that little fantasy.

He really taught me that love comes in all different forms. While he didn't sleep with me or sit by me all the time or want to be cuddled, that dog loved me to no end. That dog saved me from what could have been a life ruining experience, or really possibly a life ending experience.

Which is why I now love big dogs. Now I know not all big dogs are as smart/protective as Baxter was, but I do know this. Mace wasn't going to help me. A gun wouldn't have helped me.

But that big dog saved my life, and I will love him and be grateful until the day I die.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

My Dog, the Graduate

So lil (or not so little) Nitro has graduated from puppy kindergarten.

Unfortunately the pic of him with his little hat on turned out real blurry as he felt he Must! Eat! The! Tassel! once we put it on him.

Damn dog.

He's going to another class soon that isn't in the middle of some cheesy pet store chain floor. He's going to "big dog school", a school where they teach the working dogs like police and search and rescue dogs. I want him to go through as much training as possible, because he very well could end up weighing more then I do.

The "big dog school" wouldn't take him before because he was to young, so I enrolled him in the cheesy chain store school just to get him some basics so I could control a puppy that at five months is prolly around 70 pounds.

Many people have asked me why the hell I didn't just get a little dog and be done with it.

I have an unfair and unnatural prejudice against any dog that can get it's ass kicked by a hamster.

When the dog I grew up with died my Mother promptly went out and bought a teacup Yorkshire Terrier From Hell.

Her name was Sasha. I still hate that name. This dog gave new meaning to the word bitch. Granted at first I hated this dog because I felt like they replaced a member of my family with a damn dog that was only 6 ounces when she came home. She wasn't big enough to go down the stairs until she was around a year old, and even then I think she weighed in at a whopping 4 pounds.

It didn't take long for her to give me a real reason not to like her. She was 4 pounds, but had the attitude of a 100 pound dog. My GOD this dog was unreal. Say you accidently kicked her, which was real easy considering she was always under foot and so small.

She would go find YOUR shoes and poop in them. Just a total nightmare. High pitched barking, would jump up on you and scratch, and always wanted to be in your lap.

If for some odd reason you didn't want this anti-christ in your lap she would growl at and/or bite you.

God I fucking hate small dogs....So ok I know they aren't all bad and some are well behaved. A friend of mine has a Shitzu that is cool as hell. I think the problem is most people get a small dog and they think, "It's a small dog, it can't do damage. It doesn't need trained."

Bullshit. All dogs should be trained. Add the fact that people for some reason think it is fun to dress these little monsters up and you just have an untolerable situation. I mean really, God wouldn't have gave them fucking fur if he wanted them to wear clothes.

My great love of big dogs started around the age of 18, when I got my first big dog, a 150 pound Old English Sheepdog named Baxter.

We'll save that for tomorrow......

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Under Construction

So I'm living in a construction zone right now. No, the greedy ass town has not forced me to sell my house yet, but I made a decision.

If these people do come in here and do make me sell my house, they are gonna pay for it, and pay dearly.

So I called up my friend C who does random construction when he needs money and still lives in his parent's basement.

He's 33 by the way. 33 and hott with 2 t's. 33 and would probably be the most fuckable person I know except for the fact that he's permanently stuck in that stage most people go through when they are around the age of 18.

Such a waste. Anyway, so I call up C and tell him I need some work done. Major work.

He fixed my door and put a nice new deck in for me a couple of months ago, but I'm going to be expanding on it. Part of it is going to be screened in with this cute Gazebo type thing I found at Costco. Oh how I heart Costco.

Then I'm getting hardwood floors in a majority of my house, new wood trim, new landscaping, a small pond, painting every room, a couple of dangerously leaning trees cut down, new window treatments, and a wall knocked down to make two small bedrooms one big bedroom.

There goes my savings account.

But I made a decision. If or when these bastards ever decide they are going to buy me out of my house, they are going to pay for it. That, and I haven't done much work to my house because I always considered it more of a starter type home for me. I was planning on moving this year, but since the rich people are invading my neighborhood I decided to wait it out.

So I'm getting everything new, everything the way I would have wanted it in my new home I was planning on purchasing. So right now my house smells like paint fumes, I have no floor in part of it, and I'm trying to keep this guy

from causing more destruction. I mean, more destruction then he already causes like eating my cell phone, kitchen table, random shoes (shoes! for the love of GOD! not the shoes!), the wood trim in my bedroom (hence the replacement), and the passenger's side seat in my SUV. Having a puppy that is 5 months old and oh I'd say around 65-70 pounds is so! not! fun!

So things are crazy around the kayjay household right now, but at least I'll have some good eye candy. Think of an Italian version of Matthew McConaughey. Think of a 6'5 Italian version of Matthew McConaughey.

Nice, eh?

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Run for Your Life!

It's the seventh sign!!!  Earthquakes will consume the earth.  Tidal waves, tornadoes, chaos, and the apocalypse in general are all about to happen.

Why am I so sure of all this doom and gloom? The media has actually reported a Toyota recall.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Update-sort of

So I could apologize for not writing, but the truth of the matter is I have been writing quite a bit.

Just not here.

I've been working a lot on my other writing, you know the kind I hope might get turned into a movie one day. I suppose all my creative juices have been flowing in that direction, so I've been a bit tapped when I go to do a blog post.

So my blog has been neglected, but not forgotten. Those damn Baby Boomers won't let me. You see, even though a lot of you bloggers have probably given up on me (and I don't blame you), the search engines live on.

My 50 is the new 30 post gets at least 40 search hits a day. They inevitably go back to those February '05 archives and read my delusional boomer post and my rants on the echo bastards.

Then they email me. Quite a bit, actually. I am pretty sure that I put not ALL boomers are like that, that not all echo boomers are bastards, and that not all Gen Xer's got fucked. But quite a few people take these posts rather close to heart, like I wrote it about them personally.

Which I think is some funny shit, let me tell you. Thou protest to much.

Another big one from the search engine camp is the E Harmony posts in the December archives. Thank god they haven't found the one about them hating fat people.

I've been emailed quite a few times about how E Harmony is for people serious about finding relationships and that I shouldn't treat it like a game or laugh at it.

Don't worry people, when my birthday present ran it's course I didn't re-sign up. But I still think it's funny. Sue me.

Oh, and I've been dealing with a puppy that now weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of 60-70 pounds at 4 1/2 months old, which is so not fun.

So far he has ate a $200 cell phone, dug a hole in my bedroom carpet, went through the screen in my brand new storm door, and ate the corner off my coffee table. He is big enough to reach all counters and tables in my house, and my beautiful wall length window in my kitchen can no longer be open because he thinks it's an escape hatch.

He also follows me everywhere I go, sleeps on the end of my bed, and patiently wakes me up in the morning by staring at me like I am the most bestest person in the whole entire world.

Somehow this makes up for all the destruction. He isn't a bad dog, just misunderstood is what my niece says. Now he does have his good qualities, as he has excelled in potty training (THANK GOD), and passed beginning puppy training with flying colors.

He was like the valedictorian of his class, if they had one. Nitro will sit, lay down, shake, roll over, stay (sometimes), leave it, take it, and drop in on command. Not to shabby for a 4 1/2 month old. Now if he would just stop chewing and/or running through things we'd have it made.

I still totally adore him though, in spite of it all. He's a big mamma's boy, big baby. He's afraid of birds and when his little 20 pound beagle pal gets mad. It doesn't hurt that he's just too cute for words.

So that's what I've been up to. Writing and damage control. I can't promise that I'm going to be blogging on a regular basis, but I really have no intention of closing up shop. I will be checking in occasionally, and really do plan on blogging regularly once I have my current script completed.

Stay tuned....