Baxter

I hope I don’t incur the wrath of any moms or dads out there but I’ve got to be honest: I blame my daughter.

She was the one who sat there giggling hysterically, smack in the middle of a dozen writhing Dachshund puppies, pointed her little finger at the one that, at least to my eyes, seemed to be completely ignoring us, and said with great confidence in her selection “That one!” That was seven years ago. It’s been downhill ever since. Yes, I most definitely blame my daughter.

To say that Baxter is a challenge is to say the Grand Canyon is a rather good-sized hole in the ground. “Challenging” is just a starting point. He is insistent, he is stubborn, he is high maintenance and he is, on the most trying of days—I believe—the devil incarnate.

Sure, Dachshunds, as a breed, are known for being very strong-willed and not the easiest of dogs to train or housebreak. But with Baxter, well, it’s not just a matter of him being strong-willed; he is a four-pawed, 24-hours-a-day test. A test of my patience, my endurance, of my willingness to forgive – of my very will to live! While it’s often said that God never gives us more than we can handle, with Baxter, I can’t help but feel that the Almighty might just be pushing it a bit.

And yet, he’s still my dog.

And, as such, he is cut a lot of slack. A great deal of slack. But the reason why is simple: Because Baxter doesn’t see me as a challenge. Ever! He doesn’t see me as high maintenance or a burden to bear. When I go to take him outside he doesn’t look at me and think to himself “Ugh, what the hell does he want now?” He thinks, “You want to go outside? Sure, I’ll go with you!” He excels at the very thing that dogs do best: fail to see our shortcomings, our flaws and inabilities.

I try to keep that in mind on those days when he’s driving me nuts. Days when I wonder what it must be like to own a sleepy Lab, a good-natured Spaniel, or a dumb-as-a-stump, yet sweet as sugar Sheepdog. Days when I wonder what it must be like to own a good dog. But then I realize—thanks to my daughter—I already do.