July 1994.
We weren't looking for a dog. We were living in a one bedroom granny flat owned by a Czechoslovakian who had been a family friend for a number of years. We lived opposite the house where I was an unruly teen in Parkside.
George had told us in no uncertain terms, that we were NOT to have a cat. He detested cats. But we were allowed a rabbit, or a dog.
We had just moved from a block of units, and had not long lost our beloved cat, Moraghy. She had been hit by a car and did not survive.
We so dearly wanted another cat. But George was dead against it.
We were out window shopping one day at Castle Plaza shopping centre. We weren't looking for anything in particular.
We happened past the local pet shop, and stood gazing at a gaggle of pups together in a glass display.
There was two or three black and tan puppies, and one little brown one. The little brown one was full on. Seemed like he was the boss. His brothers and sisters were waggly tailed and happy little chaps, but this little guy seemed intent on bossing them around.
We wandered off, but for some reason, we were drawn back to the pet shop, and we both seemed to have the same thing on our mind.
That little rascal puppy.
We asked the pet store guy, "How much is that doggy in the window?!" And what breed etc, etc.
"$70. And we think they are Wire haired terrier crossed with Boxer."
We had very little money back in those days. And $70 to us was quite a lot of money.
But I remember distinctly going to the wall and withdrawing that money like our life depended on it, and rushing back to the pet shop to buy that little brown pup.
I still have the pet shop docket from when we bought him... heh.
We were driving down Winston Avenue on our way home. We decided to call him Winston.
While driving home, I remember holding him in my arms stroking his back, and wondering what all those little grainy things were in his fur?
FLEAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And LOTS of them!
We got home, and the very first thing I did was wash that little bugger in the old laundry trough with Malawash.
Blow drying him with a hair dryer, he howled and howled. :o(
We stuck a little pyrethrin flea collar on him, and wormed him, and gave him a treat out on the back lawn- an orange.
I will NEVER forget this. And our first introduction to how BAXTER would behave for the rest of his life to food!
Yes, we renamed him Baxter. And it suited him. We had seen a French movie about a bull terrier called, Baxter.
Baxter was barely bigger than this orange. We were out there with him, taking photos and generally squeeing at his general cuteness.
But as soon as we tried to get near him, he started this low growl. Then, as we approached more, he started to bark and snarl with his teeth showing.
OMG!!!!! All the while, trying to eat this massive orange.
Other than this though, he was a simply beautiful boy. He never had an evil bone in his body.
A lot of times through his life, people would mistake his growls as aggression, but he never attacked anyone.
He was vocal. Not physical. A bit like me, really.
Our landlord, George, totally adored Baxter. He was his surrogate Grandfather.
When were weren't around, George would sneak Baxter into his place, and feed him cooked chicken and rice with vegetables.
No wonder he wouldn't eat what we gave him!
George was continually berating us about how we 'brought' Baxter up. How we fed him, how we trained him, how we groomed him.
We were fighting a losing battle trying to reason with George, NOT to feed him. He would be so sneaky about it.
By November 1994, we had moved up to Jamestown. It was a relief to get away from the meddling, yet kind George.
Baxter now had two new Grandparents, my Mum and Dad, and boy oh boy, did he get spoiled like a Grandkid should!
Going back to his growing up period- when he was still very young(he was only 7 weeks old when we brought him home), we started getting him used to being on a collar and chain early.
He hated it at first. He would sit there and yank his head around, pull the opposite way, and howl.
It took him a little while, but he soon got the hang of walking with us on a lead.
We lived right next to the Parklands, on Greenhill Road.
So we would walk him several times a day in the park.
On one of the very first times we took him to the park, we learnt of another of his idiosyncrasies.
We thought we'd play a game with him. Chasey.
Well, he did NOT like that.
We had waited for him to be distracted by a new smell or something, then took off in the opposite direction. As soon as the poor little bugger worked out we had gone, he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, howling and yipping as though his poor heart would break.
Even when he caught up with us, and we were still jogging, he wouldn't stop barking... he practically jumped at us and tried to bite at our pants.
He would do this to anyone who tried to run. We had to let any kids who visited us, NOT to run, as he would chase them down. Scary for a kid, but as I said earlier, he wasn't nasty, he just appeared that way with his vocal barking.
Baxter suffered from separation anxiety. We were with him pretty much all the time in his very early life.
So anytime we were gone, his behaviour was that of a spoilt child.
We would come home to plants pulled up, holes dug everywhere and anywhere, and general mess.
As far as we know, he never howled or barked while we were gone. But later on in life, he did howl if I were to go horse riding without him.
Not long after we had moved to Jamestown, and he was about 6 months old, he took off one day following a pretty bitch who was being walked by her owners past our house.
We called and called and called him, finally managing to catch up to the people(you think they would've stopped).
Our house had no fence, so we were forced to put Baxter on a long chain while we were out. I hated having to do this, but it was only temporary, as we were going to be moving again soon into a permanent house.
But we decided that we were going to have to have him desexed. We didn't want him wandering off again.
I loved our new home. And Baxter did too.
We went on endless "Tat tats"(walks), he was fit as a fiddle. He loved the big green grassy oval up at the show grounds. As far as he was concerned, that was HIS oval!
He hated it if there were other dogs on there.
He loved water. Loved swimming.
He loved nothing better than to go riding with me. He was a very fast learner. And he soon learned not to walk on the road, but to keep on the dirt.
"Off the road!" And he moved.
He was extremely intelligent. He knew many, many commands and I swear that dog knew exactly what we were saying in everyday conversations.
We came to the conclusion that he definitely didn't have any Boxer in him. My brother had Boxers, and there was no way in hell that Baxter was part Boxer.
We think the Wire haired terrier bit was correct, but we feel that he was more Labrador than Boxer. Especially when he was clipped.
Baxter was very much my dog.
While I have always been a cat person, and Magnaboy a dog person, when Bax came into our lives, he was our be all and end all.
He loved Mboy to bits. But it was me he stuck to like glue.
If I wasn't around, he would sulk.
In 1997 Mboy secured a full time job in Adelaide at Mitsubishi Motors.
I was none to pleased that we had to move and leave our country lifestyle. Had to leave behind our house, our garden and all the work we'd done.
Even less happy that I had to leave behind my parents and friends.
I also had to leave my horses. I had to return Bella, my free lease horse to my friend. I couldn't afford to keep a horse in town.
Baxter had pretty much grown up a country dog. No walking on leashes. Days spent running around in a paddock. Freedom to do as he pleased... that all changed.
I can remember vividly his 'depression' when we moved to Adelaide.
He was lost. He missed the horses and he missed my parents. He and I both.
I think we both had a mini break down.
In 1999, lady luck shone on us. And we were offered a house in the town we live in now.... a property through family friends. Little or no rent. It had enough room for a horse. It was amongst their vineyard. It meant financial security, and we would be back in a rural setting.
We couldn't wait!
Baxter loved it. As did we all.
My friend found me a horse... a rescued Standardbred who was on her way to the dog meat factory. She would set me on a course for forever loving the breed.
Baxter and her were best mates. He shared her food. They would walk together in the paddock.
He would sometimes lay down next to her when she was laying down.
He'd eat grass, when she ate grass!
He'd play chasey with her, but sometimes, Che-Dé would get a bit too excited, and he'd end up on the wrong end of a hoof.
Baxter had a love/hate relationship with our cat, Smokey.
We got her up in Jamestown from the vets. "SHE" was supposed to be a "HE".
What kind of vet can't even sex a kitten?!
She loved him to bits. Followed him everywhere, and tried, unsuccessfully to wash him on many occasions.
He would put up with her laying next to him by the fire. But if she attempted to snuggle up to him, he'd get up and look at her in disgust.
He loved to chase her. And she learnt early on NOT to run.
The only time she would run, was if she was in a 'mood' to play. Usually early mornings.
And she knew that if she ran under the bed, he couldn't get to her. And she'd pull herself along under the bed with her claws. Pissing him off, and making him want to get to her even more.
We'd all go for walks amongst the vines.
Me, Mboy, Baxter, Smokey and Che-Dé. Of course, we couldn't go too far, as Smokey would get puffed easily. We'd have to wait for her... Baxter would get impatient.
Usually by the end of the walk, when she knew we were close to home, she'd get her second wind and run home, allowing Baxter to chase her, only she knew he couldn't get back in because the gate would be closed!
2005 was our Annus Horribilus.
Mboy and I separated. I had to give Che-Dé away as I couldn't afford to keep her. I had a mental meltdown and ended up in hospital. My back gave way and I was in hospital in traction... and then, we found out that Baxter had cancer.
To top off the year, after me and Mboy sorted our shit and got back together, we were informed we'd have to move out of our house. The owners were feeling the effects of the global grape crisis, and had to sell a lot of their assets.
Baxter had been quite ill and after many vet visits, we were told that there was nothing more we could do for him.
They removed the bone tumor on his side, and told us to take him home, and make the most of the possibly 18 months we had left with him.
I look through all the veterinarian receipts, and we spent thousands and thousands of dollars on him.
And I would do it all again in a heart beat. He was our baby.
It killed us we couldn't do more for him. We could prolong his life by a matter of months, but in the end, who were we really helping? He was in pain. He was ready to go.
It was us who weren't ready to say goodbye.
3rd March, 2006- It was the day we had been dreading.
Baxter was throwing up again. He was urinating blood. He was in deep distress.
I rang the Vets. They said there was nothing more that they could do for him, other than give him pain relief. Or, to put him out of his misery.
It was up to us.
That day will be burnt into my memory for the rest of my life.
And as I write this now, I cannot stop the tears.
It's been 6 long years, but it still hurts. It is still fresh.
I still to this day regret so much.... I know it was for the best. I am just selfish. I wished he could still be here.
In a way, he still is. His memories. The happy times. He changed our lives.
He brightened my day, when there was nothing for me to live for. He saved my life on numerous occasions....
Baxter's ashes take pride of place in our home. He is always with us. He will NOT be packed away in a box when we pack things to move. He will be held in my arms, like the day when we first brought him home.
...Ute...
