I Do Not Want a French Bulldog.

The only thing I don't like about posting twice a week is having to squeeze the Chet Baker posts in between all the zoo animals and pithy philosophizing. If I'm having Chet Baker withdrawal, what about you?? I can go in and snuzzle Mr. Popcorn Paws any old time. Still miss him on the blog.

No, thank you for the suggestion, I am not going to start another blog devoted to Chet Baker. I am going to keep painting. Here insert emoticon of smiley face. Or winky face, if you're the type who does that. I have been known to do it, but only when I'm pretty sure someone's going to take something the wrong way otherwise. Emoticons. Ecch.

One photo can change a person's outlook. Sometimes a life. I'm thinking, naturally, of some of the famous Life Magazine photos of Viet Nam that are seared into my memory. But because I am by nature a happy, silly person, I'm also thinking of photos like this

of a French bulldog puppy beset with some ridiculous and obviously unworkable footgear
that a Facebook "friend" who shall remain unidentified for now had the temerity to post on my wall. She knew, even as she posted it, that this seemingly innocuous act would set up a barely-controlled puppylust in me, which is just flat out not a fair thing to do to a friend, even an imaginary Facebook friend. Misery loves company; she is suffering from that same puppylust. As for me, I could put that French bulldog on a bun and put a little country mustard on him and have him for lunch, he is that delicious. I did not know they came in anything other than fawn, black, red, black-and-white or brindle and now that I know there is a tricolor variant I am doomed.

This "friend" likely knew in hitting me with this photo that the first breed of dog I decided I wanted when I decided, after 13 years of hemming and hawing, that I wanted a dog (is this still English?) was a French bulldog. Now make that a tricolor French bulldog.

But then I decided that I needed a French bulldog with legs because we would be hiking, oh yes we would, and clambering around these steep slippery Appalachian foothills. And so I put nice long legs on that wish and got a Boston terrier and I think you know that I have never been sorry about that, not one nanosecond have I been sorry I got a Boston terrier instead of a French bulldog.

Until LINDA M. LYSAGHT that RAT FINK sent me that !@#$#!%$# PHOTO. But I am STILL NOT SORRY and I would get a Boston terrier again not that I am even CLOSE to shopping,f because HERE is what a Boston terrier can DO.

This is Chet Baker's patented aerial switcheroo in which he leaps up heading right and flips his hindquarters around and lands heading left. I remember the day he taught himself to do it and it's been his favorite move ever since.

Try that with your little peg legs and your hi-tops, Frenchy. I shall now revel in the natural athleticism of the Boston terrier. This is Chet Baker at his best, modeling the sweater knitted for him by loyal Chetfan Sue Robbins back when he was a puppeh.

I'm sure you could teach a French bulldog to fetch. Well, maybe you could. I hear they're a little headstrong.

But for airs above the ground? Look no further than the seal-brindle marvel that is his Chetness.

These photos are of poor quality, but it is hard to photograph perfection. I included this one because he looks like a man in a Boston terrier suit.

Float like a butterfly. And he doesn't even need to stick his tongue out to do it. I know I'm mixing references to great American athletes here, but forgive me. I am not a sports person.


Michael Jordan, hang your head.


Sometimes you have to give him the stick.

Come on, Chet! Get your stick!

I am not falling for it, Lee Dum. You will just sweep it away like Charlie Brown's football. I know that is what you are going to do, Phee Bee. You are rotten children. And a dog like me does not fall for that stuff.


All right. Brace yourselves. Here I come.



After a workout like that, only Shila knows which muscles to massage.

Mether. How could you ever think of any other breed?

I couldn't, Chet Baker. My heart is yours forever. I will not look at any more pictures on the Internet, I promise. All right, Mether. When bad old Linda sends you more, just cover your eyes.



I will, Chet Baker.

Sara, Mary, Jane(s), Susan(s), Wendi, Chris, Jen(s), Tim, Jason, Maureen: stop kissing your screens. There's your Chet Baker fix. I know, I know. It's been too long. Now wipe your screens. ;-)

:-D

:-/