My Life as a Dog

If I could be a dog, I would be Chet Baker, our Boston terrier. Why? Well let me tell you why...

• Because he is at the top of the affection totem pole at our house. It goes Chet, kids, Charles the macaw, orchids, other plants, any rehab birds we have, baby turtles, fish in tank, favorite garden clippers, and that tall guy that's here sometimes.
  
• Everything he does elicits peals of laughter from my fellow residents of Indigo Hill. The last time I puked on the kitchen floor, I don't remember anyone even cracking a smile.
  
• He can roll in turkey....um... droppings, and still get hugs. If I have a 5-o'clock shadow at the end of the day (and I always do) my kids run screaming. Wifeypoo, too.
• Sleeping all day is, somehow and incredibly, considered his job.
• He gets to lick dishes clean, then walk away leaving them on the floor.
• He can jump at least 4x his height. If he could hold a basketball, he'd be a millionaire!
• He walks around our yard and pees on stuff....oh wait, nevermind that one...

As far as I can tell, the only reason NOT to be Chet Baker is that he no longer possesses his complete "wedding tackle." Though this does not seem to dampen his enthusiasm in the least.

Don't get me wrong. Me Love Chet! Me also ENVY Chet!
I am just saying, in the words of Will Smith: "Day-am!"

For the real inside poop on Chet Baker, the luckiest dog in the world, visit the blog of Julie, president-for-life of the Chet Baker, Boston Terrier Fan Club.