Our dog Baxter is named after the tiny dog that belongs to Will Ferrellâs self-important character Ron Burgundy in the âAnchormanâ movies.
Like most pet owners, we subject our poor Baxter to many nicknames. Some are run-of-the-mill like âPuppyâ or âPuppy-Schmup.â We call him âBooxieâ and âBooxinator.â On days when Baxter is freshly brushed and walks with a certain swagger, I refer to him as âLord Buxton.â This is always pronounced in an awful English accent for absurd reasons that I canât explain. I hope you agree with me when I say it is our absolute right as pet owners to be reduced to sappy ridiculousness when it comes to our pets. No explanations required.
My Sunday walks with Lord Buxton can be a time for quiet introspection, to mull over the past week. My mind tends to drift toward the negative, but Lord Buxton keeps me on the right path on our walks. As I try to swat away pesky thoughts of Medium-Sized Problems, which inevitably give way to Big Problems, he gently pulls me forward and keeps the tone light. Before I knew it, we were in front of my favorite coffee shop.
I immediately see a woman holding a purple drink in her hand, that looked so unusual that I asked her what it was. âItâs ube,â she told me. âI had it for the first time in Hawaii and now Iâm obsessed with it.â
In just a few minutes, I sipped my own ube latte, marveling at the deep purple color and widening my eyes at the new taste on my tongue.Â
Think about itâŚas adults, how often do we get the opportunity to taste a new food or flavor?Â
Pesky thoughts: vanquished. Thanks, Lord Buxton.
A woman comments on the expression on my face at my first taste of ube, and she tells me that ube is a purple yam, used to flavor both sweet and savory dishes in the Philippines. By the end of our conversation, I am solemnly promising her that yes, I will definitely try the ube ice cream from Trader Joeâs.
Our next stop is the park. A woman exclaims that Baxter is âadorableâ and asks me if he can have a homemade doggie treat she just purchased at the outside market. She hands me a treat, shaped and decorated to look like a slice of pizza. It is the size of my hand. Baxter looks up at me with perked up ears and a hopeful smile.
Big Problems: on mute. Thanks, Lord Buxton.
Small moments begin to snowball. As we walk through the market in the park, filled with fresh treats, garden supplies, and artwork, Iâm being so bombarded by small pleasures that the Big Problems are relegated to faint elevator music in the way-back of my brain.
People stop to pet Baxter. A woman from a food cart brings over tiny cups of refreshing mango lemonade and iced tea for folks to try. I call out to a former neighbor I havenât seen for a while and we find a shady spot to catch up on the neighborhood news. Church bells ring through the air, creating a cooling breeze of sound. Iâm suddenly aware of the warm sun on my skin. I compliment a woman on the exquisite pottery sheâs selling, and a broad smile covers her face.
Lord Buxton swaggers his way through the park, stopping periodically to beg for me to break off another piece of the dog treat I hold in my hand. I assure him, over and over again, that he is a Very Good Boy.
Restoration of faith in humanity: level unlocked.
Feelings of contentment: achieved. Thanks, Lord Buxton.
