Saturday, December 10, 2011

Baxter Blackwell

Not Baxter
but you get the idea.
Roy commented on a previous post that all my Bird Park lacks in complexity is a stray dog and complimentary dog catcher which brings us to the subject of one Mr. Baxter Blackwell. I take a lot of photos, some might say an insane number of photos of the passing parade, the Great Circus, the Theatre of the Absurd and Wonderful to which I say...why not? M. Lee has created what is, in practical terms, a Bottomless Pit of Storage and I have a fine camera so I take it as a personal responsibility to try and fill it. But, and I say this with much sadness and regret, I do not have one photo of the rag-a-muffin darling of our neighborhood, the fickle and fanciful, the wayward and whimsical, the ever and absolutely uncontainable hairy Houdini of scruffy little mutts, the one and only Mr. Baxter Blackwell (regrettably deceased).

I can't remember the number of times I scooped Baxter up and returned him to his home and family, who did not even realize he'd slipped out again only to see him, within the hour, trotting down the sidewalk on yet another walkabout. What mystery did he seek, this inscrutable lover of the open road? Was he driven by a mere doggie's thirst for adventure or was he under the glamour of a faerie spell? I tended toward the latter but, in any case, Baxter was a beautiful woolly gypsy soul. Whenever I saw him trotting by, whether or not I could capture him, I wished and prayed that the world were a safer place. Baxter was far too small and completely irrepressible. Unfortunately, it didn't end well. Not long after his death the couple divorced, sold the house and moved, as we say in these parts, back East. Happy trails, Baxter Blackwell, wherever you are.


Roy said...

Bon Voyage, Baxter. We hardly knew you.

Kimberlee said...

We had a dog in my neighbourhood growing up. Her name was Nana. She was old and blind and she lived in the last house on my paper route. I'd find her wandering by the road so I'd talk to her and lead her back up the driveway to her front stoop and sit and stroke her head until she lied down again. One day she wandered away and never came back. My parents were afraid to tell me and when they did I said "oh sure she did she's got one adventurous spirit" and my mom just laughed so hard she cried. I think i was 12 at the time.

asha said...

Kimberlee, I remember many of the dogs from my childhood more fondly and in more detail that I remember most of the people.