Dogs and babies

Joe and I could never be accused of being dog lovers. But since we live in a neighborhood where the dog population probably outnumbers that of humans, we at least have had to strike an uneasy truce with the dogs (we don't make threatening gestures toward their owners, such as saying hello or waving, and they don't attack us). And we recognize that dogs do have their uses. We don't always know who the people are who we see while walking or driving, but we recognize their dogs. "Oh, yes, there's Mrs. Bulldog." "Haven't seen the poodle's kid lately, have we? Wonder if he went off to camp or something."

The dogs also play a big factor in who we are interested in getting to know more. If a dog seems friendly, we might strike up a conversation with its owner. One morning I saw a woman passing our window who looked like she might be nice to know, but I couldn't see the dog on the other end of the leash. I got up for a better look and sat right back down. It was a Doberman.

But there is one dog in our neighborhood, Baxter, who we think is the Best Dog in the World. I'm not even sure what kind of dog Baxter is, some little white furry kind, but that doesn't matter -- he is the most well-behaved, friendly, confident, and patient little furry ball I've ever seen. He never barks, doesn't jump all over you, and doesn't lick you to death. He appreciates displays of affection but doesn't insist on them. His owner (we call her Baxter's mom, though she does actually have her own name) frequently takes him on walks, so we see him a lot. She says Baxter is one of the few dogs that the store owners in town will allow into their domains, on account of his extraordinarily good doggie behavior (he doesn't ask for treats). A couple of months ago Baxter was attacked by another dog in the area and had a long recuperation, which included the indignity of wearing a lampshade around his neck so he couldn't scratch at his stitches. The sympathy factor caused his popularity, in our eyes, to go through the roof.

But even Baxter has his moments. The other day a group of us had gathered outside to talk about the weather, recent vandalism in the area, higher electricity rates, etc., when Baxter, who had stretched out on the sidewalk and was peering intently into one of our neighbor's back doors, made a low growl in his throat. Not an unusual thing for a dog to do, but as I said, Baxter is the Best Dog in the World, and it seemed out of character for him. He isn't the type of dog to even give a squirrel or a rabbit much notice.

I looked at his mom, who looked at the door Baxter was growling at. "Oh," she said knowingly. "There's an evil baby in there."

We all looked. We could barely make out the shape of a baby in the dim doorway, but it didn't look evil. It looked like a baby, minding its own business. It wasn't making faces at Baxter or tormenting him with doggy treats.

Baxter's mom explained that Baxter didn't care much for babies and felt compelled to protect her from their possible evil influence. We all laughed at this.

Another dog sauntered over to Baxter and immediately began growling at the baby as well. Zach may have been looking for a little bonding experience, or he may have felt a need to show that he is just as tough as Baxter, who is a quarter of his size. I imagined a conversation between the two dogs.

Zach: What are we growling at?
Baxter: The baby.
Zach: What baby?
Baxter: The baby in that house, nitwit!
Zach (peering inside the house): It can't even stand up on its own! Looks harmless enough to me. Why are we growling at it?
Baxter: Dude, we gotta protect our territory! You let one of those things in your house, it's all over for you, man.
Zach: Oh, my owners love me too much. They'd never choose a slobbering baby over me.
Baxter: Man, you've got a lot to learn.
Zach (seeming to waver): You really think we're in danger from that little thing?
Baxter: I know it.
Zach: Grrrrrr.

We are comforted by the assurance that should we ever be threatened by an evil baby, Baxter (and possibly Zach) will be there to protect us. My real concern, however, is who will protect us from the Doberman.