Baxter (aka Crazy Bob, Mr Waggles, Baxter Boodle, The Bax, and Baxy) left us for a better place in December.  It’s been a sad state of affairs for us.  Baxter was a long standing member of our family, a sweet, gentle fellow.  He was a brown, cocker spaniel mix, a true gentleman.  Baxter’s mother was a cocker spaniel, but he had several other added flavors.  We actually knew something about his family history.  A genetic test indicated some connection with the city of Chicago.  That was interesting because I was born in Chicago.  The Bax and I had a special relationship.

We first met the guy in New Orleans.  He was adopted by our son, Ken, and his partner, Linda, from a local agency.  He was about a year old at the time according to their vet.  Baxter acclimated to his new home immediately, in part because he was showered with affection by his owners.  Early on, he earned the moniker, Crazy Bob, probably a manifestation of his early life, some kind of shock or trauma, or maybe just some psychological complex.  He started his craziness at the sudden appearance of light beams on the floor or wall, a sudden movement, maybe a bird, or by television images of animals.  He became agitated and barked constantly while running around the house as if he were chasing the floor.  These outbursts diminished over time in part because Ken and Linda were very patient with him.  Ultimately, this behavior became infrequent but they still provoked much discussion in the family as to their cause.  What kind of life did he have during his first year before adoption?

Ken and Linda moved to Miami to seek new jobs when he was about three years old.  He settled into his new home with gusto and developed new skills.  He learned to swim and literally became a water dog, especially when he visited his maternal grandmother, Lois, who had a swimming pool.  He never learned to appreciate his feline friends there but seemed to tolerate them.  He was our grand dog too.  We visited Miami frequently, maybe 2-3 times a year, bringing numerous toys for The Bax.  We no doubt improved the stock price of several dog toy manufacturers.  Actually, Baxter’s wicker basket contained 30-40 stuffed playthings at any given time, squeaking animals, various talking bones and plants, frisbees, and sports items.  Nearly every order in the animal kingdom was represented in that basket.  Many of their identities were unrecognizable because Baxy made full use of them.  It was always interesting to watch him choose a toy from the basket.  He would stare and ponder for a moment, a short period of deep introspection, then a nose moving about, digging into the maelstrom. Usually, a dilapidated mini football would appear in his mouth.  He loved that football, even after it lost its ability to squeak. He seemed to have a special interest in noisy toys, those with a high-pitched sound. It seemed like a mission, a habitual compulsion to de-squeek and dismember them, usually in minutes, resulting in a mass of unrecognizable fibers strewn across the living room floor.

Baxter’s only near fatal experience as a young dog occurred shortly after he moved to Miami.  Apparently, he had been playing with a ball, but became distracted and ran out into a street, maybe chasing a bird or some imaginary threat.  According to our son, he ran into a car.  He had some lacerations and injured his hip.  Ken and Linda sent me his x-ray.  Jenni sat with convalescing patient when the kids went on a trip.  He looked rather pathetic with his bandaged paws and dejected look.  Some months later I was teaching a class to fifth graders in Denver, on maps, the science of geography, how to read them and create them.  I had to make my presentation interesting because maps are not the most stimulating topic for 11-year-olds.  To prep for the class, I selected some interesting maps as examples.  I chose some highway and topographic maps first, then an image of the Milky Way galaxy, an artist’s rendition of course.  I also discovered an artist’s rendition of a tooth showing its various parts.  What else could I choose to indicate the range of possible maps?  Suddenly, I experienced a light-bulb moment, a rare neuron connection, and I produced Baxter’s x-ray.  I later showed it to the kids.  They were impressed. “Yeah, wow, an x-ray of a dog’s hip”.  “His name is Baxy”, I said.  “Cool,”, was the return.

I travel extensively in my camper van and discover odd place names on my drive abouts.  I’m always looking for the name Baxter, and it’s surprisingly common.  There’s Baxter, Minnesota and Baxter Nebraska; the Baxter Hotel in Bozeman, Montana; Baxter Springs, Kansas; Baxter International Health care in Deerfield, Illinois.  Baxter seems to be everywhere.  There’s even a Baxter, Australia.  The name actually goes back to Anglo-Saxon, the occupational surname for a baker, a dough puncher from way back. I occasionally forwarded these tidbits to Ken and Linda to illustrate the importance of his name.

As dutiful grandparents, we continued to visit Baxter regularly, during the end of year holidays, the summer, and occasionally for special family events such as birthdays.  He always welcomed us.  Our Hanukkah and Christmas visits were memorable.  Over the years, Baxter honed his skills at unwrapping presents.  He normally received more presents than any other family member, so he had extensive practice.  He knew the routine and became very skilled at it.  He unwrapped presents at the same rate he devoiced his stuffed animals.  Often, another stuffed creature was waiting in the wings under the wrappings.  The results of his work littered the living-room floor. 

Baxter Boodle even came to visit us on at least two occasions while we were living in Taos, New Mexico. We had a large adobe home on the Mesa north of town, an idyllic setting for a curious dog.  I accompanied Baxter to Taos on his first trip there.  Ken and Linda were still living in New Orleans, and needed to fly to New Mexico because of work commitments.  We arranged for them to return to New Orleans later by car.  I immediately volunteered to drive Ken’s Prius to Taos with Baxter, allowing the extra time for work.  It was a Ted-Baxter Road Trip.  We drove I-10 across Texas, through the Hill Country, into west Texas desert country and stayed in La Quinta Inns.  That was a perfect choice because La Quinta was a dog friendly business at the time.  We played together on the extra double bed.  He watched as I ate takeout.  I watched as he ate his favorite dog food. Two days later we met Ken and Linda at the Albuquerque Sun Port.  On that visit, Baxter experienced his first snowdrift when we drove him up into the mountains to the Taos Ski Valley.

Jenni eagerly volunteered to Baxter Sit her grand dog when Ken and Linda visited out of town friends or travelled overseas.  I occasionally joined Jenni on these trips.  Baxter was an easy dog to walk.  He would just stare at the cats and usually ignore other dogs.  He was a people’s dog.  We’d take him to the beach park in Miami or to the white sandy beaches of Miami Beach on Doggie Days.  Baxter always loved coconuts on these forays.  He grabbed and rolled them or actually picked them up to carry them to some important spot for temporary storage.  He’d then stroll to the next coconut, or maybe just another challenge.  He never seemed to get bored on these walkabouts.  Sometimes he’d notice a floating coconut out from shore in the water and swim out to get it.  I think he considered fallen coconuts an integral part of his expansive toy collection.  He loved to play frisbee too but never grasped the concept of returning the frisbee to the thrower.  I suspected all along that he wanted his human companions to get more exercise.

Baxter was a great airline traveler.  He would lie quietly on the floor next to Ken and Linda and doze for the duration of the flight.  On one occasion he managed to snag an unoccupied middle seat on a flight to Denver.  When told by a flight attendant he needed to move back to the floor, a minor altercation occurred.  The kids had paid for him to fly but may not have realized that didn’t include an actual seat.  The disagreement resulted when the attendant was told that the seat was unoccupied.  Other passengers entered the fray on Baxter’s behalf.  In the end, he flew tourist class sprawled across out kid’s laps.  I was told by an unofficial source that he later sneered at the attendant during the flight.

Miami is very liberal about pets accompanying their owners to restaurants, especially in outdoor settings.  Baxter knew the drill.  He lay patiently under the table thinking dog thoughts or just watching other customers or nearby hounds.  He would never bark or cause a ruckus.  Baxter was such a good-looking dog that people would stop by the table and admire his looks.  “What a beautiful dog” or “Such a handsome pup, how old is he?”  People were always surprised to discover he was a middle-aged fellow.  Baxter accepted the accolades nonchalantly.

One of Baxter’s favorite pastimes was fishing.  Ken is an avid fisherperson to say the least, a farm-to-table angler who eats his catch.  Ken and Linda have owned three fishing boats over the years and use them frequently in Biscayne Bay and in the Atlantic east of Miami Beach.  Mr. Waggles was an enthusiastic companion, loudly barking as a mangrove snapper or Mahi was flopping on the deck. He was totally involved in the adventure.  I suspect if he had a rod and real and an opposable thumb, he’d haul them in too.

Baxter was also an employee of DAFA Design (Dyman and Feinberg Architects), Ken and Linda’s firm. His responsibilities included schmoozing with clients and guarding the office. He was designated employee of the month recently and received accolades from near and far.

Baxter could be a picky eater, especially as he grew older and needed to watch his diet.  He would voice his resentment at some new doggie delicacy purchased at the local vets by seemingly sneering at his bowl.  He was devoted to Farm Fresh though, a preservative-free gourmet concoction of chicken and rice purchased from a local distributor.  He loved it. If he heard those two words (Farm Fresh) or later, even FF, he would be ready to eat and impatiently hang around his yet empty food bowl. 

About a year ago, Baxter began to develop health issues.  Ken and Linda kept us posted on his treatments and we worried about him as the diagnosis was revealed.  After all, he was 13 years old.  His  devoted parents gave him the best of care, seeking special treatments, medications, and diets when necessary.  He didn’t like going to the vet but tolerated it.  He started failing just before Christmas, and it became a matter of palliative care.  A very difficult decision finally had to be made.

Baxter was our fave.  We loved him.  He was affectionate, always ready to play or take a walk with his football.  He could be a homebody too, comfortably snuggling between two or three pillows on HIS couch or on HIS bed with HIS parents, relaxing, dozing, or watching domestic happenings. Baxter was devoted to his family, and we were all devoted to him.  He was The Best dog in the World, a pooch of admirable qualities, with a gusto for life and a playful demeanor.  A peoples dog.  Baxter, we will miss you!