Because everyone needs a Buster

I told Buster’s groomer that Buster would be a good boy last Saturday.

She didn’t believe me.

See, Buster has a bit of a reputation. While he’s all cuddly and snuggly with me, he will seriously try to eat the liver of anyone getting within 100 yards of him.

I took a picture of him on my phone — I didn’t know I could actually do that — so that all my many friend and relatives could see what he looks like without sharp teeth showing and spittle flying.

“That’s Buster?”

Oh yeah.

“He’s cute when he’s not trying to eat my face.”

You should see him dance — which is cool because he likes the same music I do.

The really neat thing about Buster — or “Bo Bo” — is that he has these long, skinny legs and he tries to be a lap dog with those things and it’s like holding a furry bagpipe or something.

And Buster can communicate with me.

If he raises his right ear he’s asking if he can growl and snap at somebody.

If he raises his left ear he’s asking if he can growl and snap at someone else.

If he raises both ears he’s asking if he can growl and snap at whatever it is he thinks he needs to growl and snap at.

“That’s one crazy dog,” I’ve been told more than once.

Usually after he has grabbed a hold of a car tire or bicycle.

“You should get rid of him!” I’ve been told on more than one occasion — usually after he puts his left ear up.

Or maybe it’s the right ear.

Not that it matters. He just wants to growl and snap at someone — someone who is not me.

My other dog, Mazie, barks a lot, too.

She’s just trying to be as cool as Buster, but you can tell her heart’s just not in it.

It’s almost like she’s barking, “What are we barking at, what are we barking at? Am I gonna get in trouble for this?. Watch me spin so you can rub my belly.”

And Buster’s like, “A squirell! A squirell’s shadow! A memory of a squirell’s shadow!”

And Mazie keeps spinning and barking and just generally having a good time until she spins too fast and runs into the kitchen cabinets and thunks her head and then she looks at Buster like it’s his fault, which it sorta is because he always starts the whole mess.

After thunking her head Mazie will usually just sit down and look at me like I’m supposed to bark and spin.

But I don’t bark and spin.

I just try to get them to quiet down a bit so I can watch the game.

Neither one of them pays any attention to the television until some one rings a doorbell in a commercial or on a show.

Then they both run to the front door and act like the household is about to be invaded by something angry. Like a bear or rabid skunk.

Buster’s just ready for anything.

Mazie just wants to be part of the crowd.

Anyway, I got Buster to the groomer and he pulled a quick one on us all.

“You switch dogs?” I was asked.

“No … Look, he’s putting his right ear up. I think he … What the …?’

He just sat still and looked at both of us.

The groomer was so out of sorts she tried to pinch and make him growl and snarl and act like Buster.

“Maybe he’s sick,” she said.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “He chased a bunch of turkeys from the front window of the house to the back window earlier this morning.

“He had Mazie all confused because she couldn’t see them and she didn’t know if she was supposed to spin or hold still.”

It was quite confusing for Mazie.

But Buster behaved — which is something I thought I would never be able to say.

On the way home I stopped and bought him a cheeseburger (plain).

It wasn’t until I pulled up to the drive through window that he finally let go.

So after I picked up the cheeseburger from the floor — the poor girl threw it at me when Buster lunged at her — I looked at Bo Bo and said, “There’s my good boy.”