searching for timmy

Columbus day morning started off pretty much like any other day, other than the fact that it seemed like a good idea to change out my shorts for a pair of jeans and put on a long sleeved shirt. I probably could have guessed at that moment how this day would be different, but a restless night made me less aware of the potential ramifications that the subtle differences in this day offered. The little brown boy happily trundled downstairs with me, still radiating warmth from having buried himself under our covers the night before.

By the time I started to execute my game plan for the day, Baxter had developed his own plan, courtesy of the cooler weather that Mother Nature so graciously bestowed upon us. With his extra bodily warmth now fully dissipated, little did I realize that our kielbasa decided he was cold and thus made it his morning's crusade to get his humans to do something about it.

There are days like this when I'm sure Baxter wishes his humans were more in tune with what he's trying to tell us. Lassie had his Timmy. Scooby Doo had his Shaggy. Both pairs understood each other perfectly. And certainly if Shaggy can decipher Scooby Doo's mangled mumblings, then surely Baxter's humans ought to be able to figure out this little kielbasa's much humbler request for warmth.

Baxter gave me the benefit of the doubt and started his crusade simply. He stood, ever-so-cute and perky eared, and stared. And stared. And stared some more. "C'mon Timmy", his eyes screamed, "you know what I want." But his pleas fell on blind eyes. Timmy was nowhere to be found in this household.

Dense as I was, Baxter took to stronger measures to make his wishes known. Everywhere I walked, there was Baxter. Finally aware that our boy was more under foot that usual, I mistook his omnipresence for hunger. I gave Baxter his morning snack and went on about my business, thinking the little kielbasa would trundle off as he does most mornings, to kitty perch and bark at the passing clouds. But with yesterday's clouds unwilling to move even an inch to give way to the warming sun, our frosted Lassie continued his thermal crusade.

After gratefully accepting his morning treat, Baxter amped up his production with a good show of shivering, trembling with just the right frequency to blur the edges of his ears. A pitiful sight that he knew would not go unnoticed. "Are you cold, my little boy?" I asked of my now hopeful pup. "Poor thing, let's do something about it!"

The reward for all this effort, he would soon find out, was not the kind he wanted. I dug into his clothes bin and slipped onto his trembling frame a blue and green striped rugby shirt. If Baxter's life were a comic strip, at that moment he would have been drawn with steam coming from his ears and a giant thought bubble overhead filled with scribble marks. Not only was Baxter disappointed, but now he had to suffer the humiliation of wearing clothing. Forget Timmy, if Shaggy were within spitting distance, I would have been traded in an instant.

Sensing his dismay but unwilling to accept the reality of what it was he probably really wanted, I put rugby-shirted Baxter atop his kitty perch, covered him with a blankie, and returned to my desk.

Moments later, Baxter ramped up the r2-d2 noises. Quietly at first, then growing in volume and ultimately crescendoing with a bark and some muffled movement that successfully got me to look in Baxter's new direction. There sat Baxter over by his winter bed, with his forepaws trapped inside the armpits of his shirt, a giant blue and green bratwurst. Ensausaged yet determined, our little Lassie had moved to place where there could be no question as to what he wanted. George the portable heater, please. And now.

And so it goes that with indoor temperatures hovering at around 70 degrees, winter has come early this year to our household. Here stands Baxter the Victorious, happily unclothed and undecided if he should sacrifice proximity to the heater for the benefit of resting comfortably in his bed. A much better dilemma to have than trying to figure out how to trade me for Timmy.