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My beloved Baxter paces in front of the stove while I stir his food. How he knows it's his food is beyond me, as it's only turkey, peas and carrots at this point. It could be the start of a tasty turkey pot pie or a terrible chili. But somehow, his nose knows, and he eagerly awaits the fulfillment of his desires -- which, for an old blind dog, is forever tied to his next meal.
Lisa is away this week. Writing in her stead is her dog, Baxter:
My beloved mutt, Baxter, has written this column in my stead once a summer for several years now. My not-quite-right-in-the-head feline, Floyd, reminded me this week that he has never been afforded such an opportunity, and he felt this would be an appropriate Christmas present for him this year.
My beloved mutt, Baxter, has written this column in my stead once a summer for several years now. My not-quite-right-in-the-head feline, Floyd, reminded me this week that he has never been afforded such an opportunity, and he felt this would be an appropriate Christmas present for him this year.