If SHE can't keep track of a DOG, what makes HER think SHE can handle a grandbaby?

My reputation precedes me sometimes, and in many cases it's not such a good thing.  I've talked at length in previous posts about how difficult I've found it "adapting" to this "sea of inhumanity" they call Atlanta.  Meeting new people and making friends hasn't seemed as easy as it has in years gone by.  Sure, church is a good way to meet folks, but even church folk fall short on the friend-0-meter sometimes up here.  Anyhow, we live in what they call a "Country Club (Golf and Swim) Community up here.  Sounds luxurious, doesn't it?  Well, most of my "meet and greet" activities over the last two years have transpired over a conversation that evolved around one question "How are you and Have you seen my DOG?"  I am pretty sure that the majority of our subdivision residents see me coming and go "Oh My Holy Jesus - Here comes "that woman" again, the one that can't keep track of her DOG!"  If I were them, I'd think it..  My thought process on the subject, that is until we had "Baxter", went something like this . . . . . . "If you have pets, take care of them. They're a commitment."  These comments echo in my brain . . "If this woman can't keep up with a little white dog . . . . how did she manage children?  How does she manage grandchildren?"  Well, while the jury is still out on the grandchildren, I seem to have done rather well on the "children" end.  I've spent a great deal of time over the last 2 years reflecting and questioning our ownership skills of our adorable spunky little white wire haired schnauzer.  We inherited him, and all the joys that came with him.  Problem is I'm beginning to believe there's a definite need for multiple visits from Cesar Millan here at Bitsy's house.  I'm really wondering if the Dog Whisperer has a "scholarship program" for "underprivileged" dogs.  I believe Cesar should at least contemplate this concept, if he doesn't have one!  At any rate, with Baxter, it seems, there is nothing about him that is trained, nor trainable.  On the many occasions when we have had a prison break, he travels with all the tenacity of a greyhound.  He takes off at a clip that would challenge any respectable race horse.  I really should consider DNA testing because he may just test positive for "Secretariat" bloodline.  He never misses an opportunity to escape.  He'll bust out of windows, taking the screen with him.  He'll take running leaps as unsuspecting visitors enter our front door.  He'll squeeze out of spaces that even ants would tout as challenges!   For a year or so, every time he got out, I cried and moped, we would pass out hundreds, yes hundreds of fliers with his face on them.  You know, the stereo typical "Have you seen this dog" thing.  We've come short of placing his face on a milk carton, but it's been tempting.  Thankfully, we've always been pretty good detectives and he has lived through all of his great escapes . . . . . so far, that is.

No, he's not "busting loose" because of the wreath!

I reflect alot on what it is that makes an animal "who has it made" want to "run away from home"?  We're alot more conscious now for his propensity to "run", but still, Baxter "busts loose" about once a month.  Today, as we walked down the cart path, past one of his favorite "bathroom stops", it hit me.  There is nothing wrong with his thought process.  It is, in all likelihood, MINE, that is seriously flawed. I guess everybody has had a moment when they wanted to just "run away".  It's not so "abnormal".  After all, "running away" can sometimes lead to "coming home".  Right?

One of Baxter's favorite spots - the sun comes in through the front window and he "SUNS" himself.
  That is when he's not on the lam!

Growing up, there was an amazing post light at the end of our driveway.  We had this long narrow driveway and that post light seemed to beckon us home, to a safer place.  It didn't matter how young or how old we were, the post light just seemed to be home base.  That post light stayed on, just like the front porch light did until all family members were present and accounted for.  I've never really given much thought to the post light on 224 Felicity Street until today.  That post light was even the place I went when I was little and felt the whole world had discriminated against me ( or at least "my portion" of the world)!  With my bottom lip extended . . . . just pouty enough to get the message across, I'd hike on out to the post light and do my version of "running away from home".   The Murphy Family post light, just far enough away to "think" but not so far away from the "comfort zone".  The Murphy Family post light . . . . a place where my siblings and I could go and "regroup" just long enough to realize how very special that house we sat and stared at was.  As the dining room light came on and my Dad made it home from work, my stomach would rumble just a little.  Just about the time I'd be reconsidering how appealing the "running away from home" decision truly was, my Mom would send dinner out, with my Dad to tell me it would be getting dark soon and if I wasn't going to come in, to at least stop by for a flashlight, a sheet and a pillow.  That usually did the trick. 

Anyhow, this Bitsy is working hard on curbing Baxter's excursions.  Even I am wondering if I can't keep track of a little white dog, maybe the Lil Momma and Precious may have concern about Bitsy keeping track of the Webbman! I'm thinking The Turcotte Family of Atlanta may just need a Murphy Family post light at the end of our driveway, a home base of sorts for Baxter.  I'm hoping that Baxter will get find that "lovin' feeling" if we "leave the light on" .  You know kind of like Motel 6!