Those Lilly Pads Look Pretty Solid

Every summer my wife and I, along with her parents, paddle into Algonquin Park, about 4 hours north of Toronto, for our annual canoe trip. Skippy's first trip with us was in 2004 and she has been a welcome addition every year since. We soon discovered that the camping experience afforded Skippy the environment in which she could truly be a dog, as I have described in other posts. It also provides many new and unfamiliar challenges that test Skippy's assumptions of reality. Case in point: lily pads.

During her first trip into the interior, there were a few strange occurrences but nothing involving the canoe or the water. Perhaps she was too frightened by this strange experience to know the extent of the danger that lay beyond the gunnels of the boat. But the following year, was altogether different. On the first day, while paddling slowly along a narrow river, Skippy assumed a more bold, or shall I say, a more inquisitive position on the canoe. Her forepaws on the gunnel, she now could see the water fleeting by below her. Here she stayed, curious and watchful, until we stopped near a dam.

Maybe we were talking about the dam itself, or we might have been admiring the beauty of the trees and the river, but we certainly were not watching the dog. And so, when we heard a loud splash off port side of my in-laws' canoe, we all quickly turned to see Skippy frantically swimming through a mass of lily pads toward the shore, more than ten feet away. Evidently, she mistook the lily pads for dry ground. She ignored all calls to come back and hastily focused her efforts on getting safely to shore: the only thing she was certain now that was dry. In a few moments Skippy was sitting on the shore, shaking as she bore an expression of complete confusion, as if to ask, "What just happened to me?"

It's funny what we take for granted as pet owners. We assume our pets perceive things in the same way we do. In this situation it hadn't occurred to us that the large, flat plants covering the surface of the water could be perceived for anything other than what they were: flat, floating plants. But why should Skippy see it this way? If one had no other previous experience or knowledge, it is conceivable that they could make the same mistake. Now this incident was still strange, and made me shake my head in disbelief at the crazy things this dog will do, that I'm sure seem perfectly normal to her. But it did get me thinking about what else I take for granted and what my Jack Russell has absolutely no clue about.

Moments before the plunge.

I Don't Know You, but Can You Rub My Belly? Please?

There are a lot of reasons why people get dogs. Perhaps the most common is companionship. I know that for some, protection is a big reason, not loving their dogs any less than those who made the decisions for other reasons. With Skippy, it was pity. Let's be honest about it. How many of us fall into the latter category? Seeing this trembling Jack Russell looking out from the glass during a trip to the local SPCA, made on a whim, was certainly enough to draw our attention. Finding out her history as rescued breeding dog from a puppy mill, evoked our pity. I think the clincher had to be her complete willingness to roll over upon seeing the extended hand of a stranger. Then, the strangers were us. She still rolls over for us; that is unless she has escaped, whereby she rolls over for just about anyone but us.

When it comes to being naughty, I have no doubt that Skippy is just as normal as other Jack Russells. The breed seems to have an innate disposition toward mischief. And, from what I've heard from other owners, I can't complain. She doesn't destroy anything or rip anything apart. And unless we've left out food, that is within 16 inches from the floor, we generally don't have any issues. But what Skippy does love to do is escape.

Given the opportunity, Skippy will dart through the door to freedom and with great speed leave the invisible borders of our property. The first few times this happened, I engaged in the most frustrating exercise in futility I have ever known in an attempt to retrieve her. It was a game to Skippy. She would ignore my calls and wait until I was almost close enough to grab her before she shot off down the road away from me. Then she would stop on the road and wait until I again drew closer, and continue the game. After ten minutes of this, I just walked home. My wife was very unimpressed with me when I returned empty-handed. "See if you can catch her," I responded. What else could I say. She came home five minutes later.

On another occasion, soon after we got her, I attempted the same approach with some minor adjustments, but the result was unchanged: the dog doesn't come when you call her and she is definitely faster than me. This time something different happened, which both shocked and annoyed me. A couple was walking in the opposite direction of our chase, and seeing that I needed help, they called to her. Skippy ran up to them and rolled onto her back and waited for her belly rub, which she got. Why would this dog listen to a stranger and not to me? I wasn't yelling and I was careful to mask my frustration with a cheerful and playful tone. That was eight years ago and she still doesn't come when you call her and she will still always come to a stranger.

She rarely escapes now, unless a visitor accidentally leaves the door ajar for a moment. It's easily preventable: you just have to make sure the door is never left open. That seems simple, but for some reason Grandma and Grampa seem to forget this. I think that's why Skippy loves it when they look after her. Just recently, we had come home from being away. Skippy was at my wife's parents (Grandma and Grampa's). There was a message on the phone from our vet: Skippy was in the home of woman who had found her walking down her street. Apparently, Skippy just ran up to her and rolled over. That's great. What's even better is that Grandma and Grampa didn't know she was gone. When we called the lady to get our dog back she offered some really helpful advice. She said, "You know, you should probably keep a better eye on your dog. She's so friendly that she could just be taken by anyone." Yeah, thanks. I'll keep that in mind.

And what's with the no eye-contact? Completely strange if you ask me.

My Favourite Cat is Cat Deeley

Two nights ago we had a severe thunderstorm that lasted nearly five hours. The thunder was close and the lightning, continual. Skippy's anxiety during these times reaches record highs and makes the trip to the vet seem like camping. I realize that many dogs have issues when it comes to storms and in that respect, Skippy is no different; but like humans, I believe that how a dog handles itself in a time of crisis says something about their character. So who does Skippy cling to to weather the storm? Who pulls her through when thunder is closing in all around her as she shakes, shivers, and pants? Cat Deeley.Yes, that is how strange my Jack Russell is: only Cat Deeley will do. Did you expect something normal like me or my wife?

Even before we can hear advancing thunder, Skippy is keenly aware of it and begins to tremble. She can't sleep, which means neither can we. About a year ago we discovered, during a storm, mostly through trial and error, that the only thing that would calm Skippy down was, "So You Think You Can Dance?" We set the laptop up on the bed and tried various shows to try to distract her, but it was only when my wife put on "So You Think You Can Dance?" that she began to calm down. We also discovered, when we turned the volume down in an attempt to get some sleep, that the attraction to the show was not visual: she needed to hear it. We accepted this as the lesser of two evils, and Skippy was soon lulled into a sleep-like trance. Such was the pattern for the past year.

So what's the attraction to "So You Think You Can Dance?" Is it the music? That's what we thought until two nights ago. We activated our severe thunderstorm Skippy safety plan and began the usual ritual of SYTYCD, but opted to go with the Canadian version because my wife hadn't seen the newest episode. But she can only take so much of the stupidity of the French judge, so after nearly a half-hour of, "You lifted the ceiling on that house," she decided to switch to the American version.

During this time, Skippy had not settled down. She was still trembling and trying to stifle her whines; but when Cat Deeley said, "Welcome to 'So You think You Can Dance,' I'm your host, Cat Deeley," Skippy laid her head next to the laptop and drifted off to the sound of her soothing English accent. This is when we made the connection. It's ridiculous enough that she only goes down to SYTYCD, but even more so that it has to be the versions featuring Deeley. The lengthy duration of the storm allowed us to test this theory.

When the show ended, we put on the Australian version - no Cat in this one. Skippy roused herself. She looked to us with her pleading eyes, confused as to why we would do such a thing. Even though it was the same show, she became unsettled again: not as unsettled as with the Canadian version, but she clearly detected something suspicious in the Australian accent. It was friendly, but you couldn't curl up by the fire with it. We finally switched to the British version. Cat Deeley spoke her magic words, and her voice, sweet as honey, lulled Skippy into a deep slumber once again.

This story makes me howl. What a great dog. Thank you, Britain, for your proper diction and annunciation; and thank you for Cat Deeley. If my dog could thank you she would lick the furniture you sit on. The differentiation between T.V. shows and the purposeful attachment to a specific British T.V. host as a means of finding solace in a time of heightened stress, certainly demonstrates intelligence. But isn't it just weird? And bizarrely eccentric? And don't we all find eccentric people really strange? That's because they are. So what is up with my Jack Russell? I have no idea.

Cat Deeley's biggest fan.

The Jealous Jack Part II: The Mope

This is a continuation of my September 17th post, "The Jealous Jack", so if you haven't read that one yet give it a quick read and come back to this one. That's only a suggestion so that you have the full picture of the type of situation I've described and am about to illustrate. Certainly no one is stopping you from reading on.

So far, Skippy's jealousy issues with Kitty have caused her to whine, foolishly jump down from the couch to receive Kitty's wrath, and roll over on her back, shifting her body to procure our attention, thus diverting it from the cat. If both of us are present, and one is near Skippy, that person will try to calm her down and explain that the cat is allowed to have love too. If only one of us is present and the cat is laying on us, the dog whines louder and twists her body back and forth in her futile effort to get us to pet her. But she is not satisfied to simply pet. To fully please this Jack Russell we must not allow the cat do any of the following: climb on us, purr while on sitting on us, or lay on us while casually licking one of her paws, thus rubbing her one-on-one time in Skippy's face. Personally, I don't think the cat cares what Skippy thinks.

What I do think is that my Jack Russell is completely pathetic, and maybe a bit mental. When her transparent attempts to distract, deter, and divide us from the cat have all failed; when it is clear that the cat has won and all hope of Kitty's rejection is lost, Skippy admits defeat. But she doesn't take this defeat passively. She jumps off the couch hesitantly, takes a few more steps before she stops in the middle of the floor. Isolated and forlorn, she looks back with one last attempt to exude her pathos, hoping that I will take pity on her and eject the cat from my presence. Dejected and determined to be alone, she trots to the door and barks to be let out. Sorry, Skippy: I'd let you out but I have a cat on me.

Can You Please Help Me? I'm Stuck Again

After you have a dog for a short while you come to recognize certain barks. For example: there is the "I want in now" bark, the "This is my driveway, so keep on walking" bark, and the "Someone is at the door" bark. These are just a few basics that I've come to recognize with Skippy. But it wasn't long after we got her that I noticed a new one that would quickly become a major part of her repertoire: the "I'm stuck, can you please help me" bark.

When my wife and I first got married we lived with her parents and they had a large, mature maple tree in the middle of their backyard, which we tied the dog to. The rope extended from the tree to the side door and gave her enough freedom to explore most of the yard unhindered. One day, there was a bark coming from the yard that we had not heard before. It was a staccato bark, higher pitched than normal, with longer pauses in between. She also sounded farther away then the door. As the large kitchen window overlooks the yard, we first went there to see what the matter was, as the bark had a hint of desperation to it. There was our nearly new Jack Russell completely wrapped around that maple tree.

Sure, this was a funny sight, but we thought she would just retrace her steps and walk clockwise around the tree to free herself. We quickly realized that she was not barking so that we could spectate, but that she clearly saw herself in a situation that she did not know how to escape from. Parenthood provides us with many teaching moments and since we don't have kids I thought this would be a good opportunity to teach this Jack Russell how to make a clockwise turn. So I calmly began to walk around the tree in the opposite direction, calling her name, assuming she would follow me and see the path to her freedom. I figured this would take a few times to sink in and that patience was required; after all, this was a new environment for this troubled dog and she wasn't going to learn this overnight. I was so prepared to be patient. I was smiling. This was an amusing situation, but it soon became frustrating as Skippy wouldn't follow me. She did not respond to her name. She still doesn't. I didn't even get to step one of my brilliant plan. I found out quickly that when your voice becomes frustrated, then angry, she is even more less likely to follow. Finally, I grabbed the rope and forced her to follow me, as she fought and pulled in the opposite direction. Why are you doing this! It makes no sense! With everything in her, she fought against the clockwise retracing of her steps.

It would be a conservative estimate to say that she gets stuck in this exact same fashion at least once a day, if not more. You have to pick your battles, and this was one I was not prepared to fight. As it turned out, this was a wise decision because it would have been a perpetual struggle: not of wills, but of my patience and her inability to backtrack.

We bought our own house over four years ago. It had no large tree of any kind for her to wrap herself around. But Skippy continued to baffle me as I heard her familiar plea for help one the first mornings she was there. She discovered that the tires of our Jeep were great for walking around and walking through. I could not believe this. It happened with the motorcycle too, and still not a day goes by that we do not have to rescue her from one of these self-imposed traps. It's always the same: no matter what direction she goes around the wheels.

I just shake my head in amazement at this. You are so weird, Skippy. We have an entire lawn with no obstacles at your disposal and you still insist on wrapping yourself around the wheels of our vehicles.  Jack Russells certainly spawn some unique stories, but I cannot believe that this directional incompetence is indicative of the breed. And so I still ask, "What is up with my dog?"

Look closely at the rope.

It looks so simple, yet she cannot figure out how to free herself.

They Call Me Kitty

When people ask me what my Jack Russell's name is, I can give two responses: the name we gave her and the name she has given herself. "Your dog gave herself a new name? It must be really smart." I guess when you look at it that way it seems like a logical jump; that is until you meet the dog.

No, I'm afraid that the explanation is much simpler than that. Skippy's extreme insecurity as a legitimate pet in our household only intensified with the arrival of Kitty four years ago. Any attention given to the cat meant attention withheld from Skippy and therefore, signified Skippy's demotion to second pet. Skippy also began see how cool the cat was. She was amazed at how quiet she walked, how she didn't care about anything, how she didn't get scared or nervous all the time. The cat was like, "whatever" and Skippy soon came to envy the cat and became jealous of her innate coolness.

But what could she do? The solution provides us with even greater insight into how incredibly strange this dog is. Since Skippy quickly realized that she couldn't compete with Kitty with respect to her grace, poise, and overall lack of respect for authority, she decided that she would become Kitty. From that point on, she resolved not respond to her name the other 50% of the time and only respond to "Kitty". As you can imagine, this became very frustrating for us as whenever we called the cat, the dog would come running. Maybe it is because "Kitty" sounds similar to "Skippy" and the dog is confusing the sounds. I wish it were only a case of bad auditory reception. But the two sounds must be distinguishable enough to her ears because she comes to one and no longer answers to the other. I'm afraid this is a choice that is somehow meant to up Skippy's cool status in the eyes of her human cohabitants.

The decision to change her name was only the beginning of Skippy's Kitty worship. We have found Skippy sitting uncomfortably on the arm of the couch or on the back of the couch looking out the window: two of Kitty's favourite spots. Her face betrays both her eagerness for approval and her awkward discomfort, as her soft nest of blankets lies unused nearby. The cat also has her favourite stool, which she loves to sleep on. If she leaves it, Skippy immediately replaces her and takes up residence on the stool. She looks at us with a ridiculous smile. Yes, Skippy, you are just as cool as the cat.

In addition to this, I once watched the cat grab a rolled up sock out of the laundry basket and toss it in the air, then jump and catch it again. We were all amazed and praised the cat for her agility and prowess, and even took turns throwing the sock up for the cat to catch. She played along for a few more throws before she got bored and walked away. Skippy then jumped off the couch, walked up to the abandoned sock, nosed it a bit, then turned to face us, hoping to receive her portion of the praise we bestowed on the cat. We patted her on the head and told her she was pretty.

I'm not really sure how to conclude this. Skippy's strange behaviour provides us with many laughs because she's quite a pathetic little creature. She wants our approval so much that she will go to any length to obtain it; even to the point of impersonating the cat who despises her. I find it hard to believe that this is a trait common to Jack Russells, and although she had troubled beginnings, she has received constant love and inclusion into our family for the past eight and a half years. So really, what is up with my Jack Russell?

You are very pretty, Skippy; and a tad pathetic.

The Jealous Jack

I've established Skippy's troubled past. Her lack of socialization with humans has certainly left a permanent impression on this poor dog's psyche. She is continually worried about being abandoned, even after eight years with us; and despite the constant love my wife shows her, she still has a desperate need for attention. And so, enter the cat.

Kitty is an average cat in many respects. She wants and gives attention on her terms. If she doesn't want to be pet and you try to, you will most likely get scratched for your effort. But she will occasionally brush up against your leg or climb on your lap, puring loudly. If your really fortunate, she might abrasively draw her sandpaper tongue across your arm or leg a few times. As if to draw attention to herself by means of distraction, Skippy immediately feels the need to intervene.

Now let's visualize this for a moment: Skippy is on the couch resting as she does most of the day. Kitty walks into the living room and brushes by my leg. The dog jumps down from the couch. Momentum naturally gives her a few extra forward steps upon landing, bringing her within inches of the cat's behind. Skippy had obviously not fully thought this course of action through beforehand, and in her jealous haste she puts her in a situation that she had not anticipated.

There is moment of stillness. Time is stayed just long enough for her to look up. Fear and uncertainty cover her face. It is a moment of frozen panic for Skippy as she realizes what she has just done. But for the cat, there is no pause. She does not wait. She turns immediately and brings her paw across Skippy's face, breathing her hateful hiss.

Occasionally - in a rare moment of mental clarity - Skippy remembers the consequences of her impulsiveness. But not content to let the cat have her due share of human attention, she rolls onto her back, her legs inappropriately spread, and with her strained cries, gives a mighty voice to her sorrow: "Formerly abused Jack Russell over here, needing her belly rubbed. Don't look at the cat anymore, please. I'm pretty sure that cat wasn't abused. In fact, I think a few times I heard her bragging about her "no abuse" past. Did I mention that I was neglected as a puppy and am now emotionally stunted?"

What's up with my Jack Russell? Maybe in this situation the answer is clear.

Don't worry, Skippy: we love you the most.

The "Something" in the Rock

This is the first in a series of camping posts that in many respects paint Skippy in a very favourable light. When in this element, for the most part, she behaves like a normal dog; perhaps even a normal Jack Russell. She enjoys running along the portages ahead or behind someone, with no leash to quell her freedom. Many of her typical neuroses become obsolete in the wild as many of the man-made distractions that fill up and busy our daily lives dissipate. The true nature of her breeding emerges and we begin to get a glimpse of what dogs perhaps were meant to be like. To see this creature that has tried my patience so many times with her ridiculous behaviour and uncompromising stubbornness begin to unwind and distance herself from her daily stresses makes me like this dog even more.

When she caught and killed a vole on one of the islands, I couldn't help but be proud. My dog, a Jack Russell, hunted something and killed it: just as it was bred to do. On other occasions she has caught and killed mice and made me smile like a parent at their "special needs" kid's piano recital. But the great thing about Skippy is that while she reverts back to that which is inherent in her breeding, she still manages to stay true to her other inherent nature: her innate "Skippy-ness". You know what I'm talking about.

If you've ever been to Algonquin Park and had the opportunity to canoe into one of the beautiful lakes, then you can probably imagine the island we were staying on. Not too large, scattered trees, with partial outcroppings of rocks, which reveal the ancient origins of the geological landscape. These outcroppings will typically have narrow and deep splits in many places, most likely caused by the expansion of frozen water (if I'm wrong as to the cause, don't post anything nasty because I'm not a scientist and I really don't care).

On this particular occasion I did not see what crawled or slithered into one of these crevasses, but I'm assuming that Skippy did. Whatever it was, it piqued her interest enough for her to investigate the crack in the rock as much as she could, which constituted a lot of sniffing and trying to wedge her nose into a place where it could not fit. At this point nothing in this behaviour struck me as odd but as quite typical of her breed. What followed after this, in my opinion, was not.

For the next three days (and this, only because we had to go home) Skippy was at the rock. She was not keeping vigil, waiting for whatever escaped into its reaches to emerge, but rather she was vigilantly sniffing for that "something". When she wasn't eating or sleeping, she was at the rock. When we got up in the night to go to the outhouse, Skippy left the tent also. At first we couldn't find her. Searching for a dog on an island in the middle of the night is not enjoyable and can be quite angering, especially when she does not respond to the several calls of her name. Finally, we found her near the water with her nose partially wedged in the rock, sniffing frantically. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's not still down there, Skippy. God job at being crazy, though, and for taking what is "normal" and making me ask still: "What is up with my Jack Russell?"

It's amazing that this never got old.

Day 3

From dusk 'til dawn.

My Wife`s Cooking

We have a very sensitive smoke detector in our house. The smallest amount of unidentified goo on the burner, causing that thin ribbon of smoke on the outer ring to rise, seems to set it off from fifteen feet away in another room. That's fine I suppose, but it makes things difficult for a skittish Jack Russell with severe anxiety issues.

I should start off by saying that my wife is a fabulous cook and that she is more than competent when it comes to managing multiple items being cooked simultaneously on multiple burners. Occasionally though, something may not have been gotten to right away, and even when everything is being managed properly, a decent sized stir-fry will set off our paranoid alarm system.

The first time this happened the dog began to shake and cry while running around frantically looking for a place to hide. Neither of us could have predicted the place she eventually found. The only two adjoining rooms to the kitchen are the living room and the bathroom. Since the smoke alarm is in the former room, this was quickly ruled out as an option. Upon entering the bathroom Skippy discovered the perfect cover from her imminent doom: a large, rectangular bucket filled with kitty litter.

Where does one go to first in this situation. The alarm is blaring obnoxiously and in the opposite direction there is a sobbing Jack Russell trying to bury itself in four inches of dried corn cobs, or whatever that natural litter is made from. It's hard to think clearly with that incessant beeping, so first the alarm, then dog. Unfortunately, our Jack Russell, when confronted, instinctively roles onto its back in complete submission, causing her to be completely covered it litter. Just so everyone knows, this stuff doesn't fall out very easily, which means lots of fun. Oh and in case you forgot the cause of all this chaos: dinner is still burning.

I think Pavlov would have loved Skippy. It would be a good story if it ended here; but that would not be consistent with the nature of my dog. She has the ability to turn an amusing anecdote into something that makes you shake your head in disbelief because there is no way you could have imagined the extent to which she stretches the ridiculous: she makes a good story great. The scenario I have just described was not an isolated incident, but it was certainly not a regular occurrence. Apparently with Skippy once or twice is enough to form a habit, so that now when my wife pulls out a pot or pan and turns on the stove, Skippy shakes, whines, and makes for her sanctuary of dried cobs and congealed cat urine. Awesome.

What is up with my Jack Russell? Please... anyone?

Short-Term Memory?

Do all Jack Russells lack short-term memory or is this just another sad, yet completely comical trait of mine? I don't know the answer, but what I saw this dog do defies explanation.

We have a little cabin on some wooded acreage that Skippy loves. This cabin has a main room with a kitchen, pantry and wood stove, a living room and a small side bedroom. For those of you who haven't read any of the previous posts, Skippy is a very needy dog. She forms attachments to certain people quite easily and gets confused, and yes, even quite distraught when the objects of her affection either, do not reciprocate to her satisfaction, or leave for whatever reason.

It went something like this: Skippy woke up from a nap and realized that my wife's parents were not in the cabin anymore. It was as if the world was about to end and all life was about crumble into the abyss of doggy hell. The dog whined her raspy whine; it starts with the slow release of high-pressured air before the valve of her throat is opened like the end of a balloon stretched between two fingers when the air is released. She ran from the living room into the middle of the kitchen and paused, looking around, then back at me, begging for an answer that would make some sense of this tragedy. Seeing that I offered no help, she ventured into the bedroom to see if they were there. She put her front paws up on the bed to see if they might be napping. They were not there. The intensity of her despair grew. Here is where the narrative moves from pathetic to baffling.

She returned to the kitchen and paused as before. I was again met with that same confused stare that pleaded for an explanation as to why the world was full of evil and suffering, and is there not something I could do to end it. This was only the beginning, as she repeated these steps of searching the two rooms for her lost grandparents. Perhaps I could give you a better idea of what this looked like through Skippy's internal dialogue as I imagined it.

"Where are those two people that I love so much? They were here before I fell asleep. In fact, I think I was sleeping on one of their laps and licking their pants. They must be in the kitchen. Clip, clip, clip, clip. Their not here. They must be dead then. Are they dead? No answer. Oh yes, they have that other room where they have naps. I'll check there. Clip, clip, clip, clip. And...no, they're not in here. They must be dead. This is the worst day ever! Wait a second: I haven't checked the kitchen yet. Clip, clip, clip, clip. Oh yes I did, right, yeah, they're not in here. I better check the bedroom. Clip, clip, clip, clip. Well, there not napping. They must be in the kitchen, then. Clip, clip, clip, clip. Right, I was just here. Before I get too stressed I'll just check the bedroom. They're probably just napping. Clip, clip, clip, clip. Nope. Must be in the kitchen.... and you get the idea, except she only stopped when I had laughed my fill and I let her outside to go find them."

As this unbelievable display of cognitive awareness went on for nearly two minutes, back and forth, I am certain she would have continued indefinitely until the next interruption. I wish I could say that I was exaggerating, but when reality exceeds the absurd extremes our minds can conjure what need is there for it. Much like her habitual licking, her need to barrel down the corridor, or her love of the cat, I believe this is only a symptom of a larger issue; one that I can not fully categorize, label, or understand the degree to which it governs her behaviour. Until I have that answer I must continue to ask: "What's up with my Jack Russell?"

I Might Be a Wee Bit of a Harlot

I am under the general impression that most dogs, regardless of breed, enjoy a good belly rub. I've seen this typical display of affection transferred from human to dog, as I'm sure many of you have. It usually begins with petting down the back before gradually moving to the side. Maybe some preamble ensues about how good the dog is and does it want its belly rubbed. The dog, anticipating the impending joy it is about to receive, rolls onto its back and there we have it, simple and innocent. I could be mistaken, but this seems to be the normal sequence of events: initiated by the human and lovingly received by the dog.

Sure, there are probably some dogs who enjoy this display of affection to such a degree that they will no doubt approach the human for the initial pet, hoping for the move to the belly, but those over-anxious dogs represent only a small portion of the canine species. Now let's turn to a Jack Russell that not only defies the norm, as she does with so many of her odd behaviours, but also makes those few impatient dogs, keen for their belly rubs, seem like apathetic cats.

What Skippy does is truly remarkable in its complete ridiculousness. At the slightest movement or possible inclination of gesture toward her she forgoes all previously mentioned steps described in the belly rub process and immediately rolls on to her back, both sets of legs inappropriately and shamelessly spread. But ironically, as one fully exposed and aware of their shame before a doctor, she looks away, careful not to make eye-contact, and waits the rub she thinks you mean to give. After all, didn't you just reach your arm intentionally toward her? Naturally, one hesitates upon seeing this blatant cry for physical affection. This delay causes Skippy to twitch and twist her body, legs still spread, to draw your attention to her because obviously if you were paying attention your hands would be rubbing her exposed underside right now.

It gets even more silly. On occasion, if you so much as look in her direction and make eye-contact, you can witness the same shamefully immodest display. Is my dog so starved for attention and physical affection that she must resort to this? No. She's just really strange, which somehow makes her suggestive body language (by human standards) forgivable and very amusing. Can dogs be diagnosed with human personality disorders? Until that time, it's merely theorizing and speculation as to what's up with my dog; unless she's just a "belly-rub harlot".

Hilarious and yet slightly disturbing

Just In Case You Forgot: I Hate You

This little episode has more to do with Skippy's dysfunctional relationship with the cat rather than some peculiarity of her innate Jack Russell-ness. If you haven't read the previous posts on the cat you might want to just to give this a little more flavour.

As we know, Kitty has little time or love for Skippy. Although the occasional moments of peace occur between them -- when they can both co-exist on the same bed or couch without incident -- they are treasured rarities in our household. Often is the case where Skippy is hissed at for either being too close, too loud, or maybe the cat smells something our human noses can't detect.

On this particular occasion, poor Skippy was targeted for no fault of her own, but simply because she existed. She breathes the same air as Kitty and on this day it was made clear that this was unacceptable. It was a quiet afternoon. Skippy was napping as is her usual custom after long nights of licking the bed sheets, scratching herself and snoring louder than my grandfather did in his recliner. She was in her little Skippy-sized bed on the floor of our study dreaming of exotic textiles from the Far East or imagining herself running clockwise around a track, only able to make right turns.

Kitty was also napping in a different room but thought it good to get up and stretch her legs, eat some food, and make a quick patrol of the grounds before settling back down to complete the last quarter of her long daytime slumber. In the course of her rounds she happened upon Skippy sleeping so peacefully. As Kitty watched her, she was suddenly reminded of how much she hated Skippy, and of course, this was something the dog ought to be reminded of. So she walked up to the sleeping Jack Russell and gently nudged her with her paw. There was no need for claws on this occasion: just a nudge would do to rouse her. After being prodded for a few seconds, Skippy finally awoke and lifted her head to see the cat sitting in front of her. Kitty hissed, and walked away, leaving a very confused and distraught dog wondering what had just happened. She turned to my wife, hoping for some kind of explanation, but none could be given.

Poor Skippy: maybe the cat hates it when you lick fabric

Perhaps the cat did it to make her feel better about herself, as bullies so often do. But I think the explanation is much simpler: a gentle reminder of an important fact to a dog who clearly has memory issues.

This Fabric Is Tasty!

This one makes absolutely no sense to me: this being the perpetual licking of furniture. There is no possible way I could exaggerate the degree to which this both annoys and astounds me. I've heard from sources unknown that this rather bizarre trait is not uncommon to Jack Russells, but I have a hard time believing that the degree to which Skippy licks furniture and other choice textiles is inscribed in the history of the breed. Let me explain what's going on here for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about.

The dog, lying on her stomach with her paws in front of her, licks what ever surface she happens to be on. She licks continually, keeping the same rhythm, lick after lick until something either startles her, distracts her, or she is told stop. The latter scenario only causes her to pause momentarily while she begins one more lick, stopping at the mid-point, her tongue held in a sort of stasis, exposed, frozen in time, with its end glued to the newly soaked sofa. She then raises her eyes to follow the sound of the voice that just interrupted her. She is confused. She attempts to interpret the tones and intonations of the voice but she can't seem make meaning of it. She then concludes that the person speaking to her cannot possibly be telling her stop doing what she is doing, because clearly this is completely normal behaviour and besides, the wool tastes ever so good. Thus, after stopping mid-lick and staring blankly at me, she resolves that I am clearly the one who is insane and she continues to expand the diameter of the wet-spot between her paws.

This is definitely an odd sight to behold. At first this seemed to be merely a case of tongue-going-astray while she is licking her paw. That is an odd sight in and of itself; sort of akin to a thumb-sucking toddler. She begins with the paws, licking incessantly. Eventually her mind is unable to contend with the extraordinary focus required for this task and her tongue just sort of trails off and makes its way toward the fabric where she continues to lick, seemingly unaware that she is no longer licking herself. What's the deal here? I do not have the answer.

I stated above this was what I thought at first. Now I am convinced that this was just a ruse on her part for the sole purpose of  trying to maintain an excuse for this strange fabric fetish. It is as if she was saying, "licking paw seems pretty normal. If I do that for a bit no one will pay any attention to me. Then once they're convinced that I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary, I'm going to get to work on the couch and no one will be the wiser. See, they're totally falling for it. I'm so clever." But now, more often than not, she jumps right into the fabric, getting right to the end game.

I find this beviour absolutely odd and it only contributes to the eccentric nature of this beast. It is possibly the most mystifying of all of her behaviours. Can I get a witness on this one? What is up with my dog? There is no way this can be normal; even for a Jack Russell.

Words cannot really express how strange this is to me.

Duped Again

Unfortunately for Skippy, she is a creature of habit. Again, I don't know if this strict adherence to routine is characteristic of the Jack Russell, but with Skippy, it certainly is. You would think that this would make it easier to train her. It actually makes it near impossible! That being said, her reactions to circumstances that are new or out of her control will very quickly birth a new array of strange habits (see future posts on thunderstorms and my wife's cooking).

One of these habits Kitty has cleverly figured out is that every time Skippy comes in from outside she must, as if by compulsion, blindly run as fast as she can down the entire length of the 25-foot entrance way and living room. There are several pieces of furniture that provide Kitty with ample cover and height to either hide behind or climb upon.

At different times I have seen this cat wait behind a chair until Skippy is about to pass her before she jumps in front of her and hisses her hatred. Maybe this is Kitty's way of playing, you say? I am convinced that it is; but let me continue, as her "playing" seems to take on a more aggressively vindictive nature.

When Kitty really feels adventurous she will use the furniture as a vantage point to stalk her prey; this dim-witted Jack Russell. Following the dog from her aerial vantage point, she jumps from chair to table to couch, all the while, Skippy, unsuspectingly quickly trots down the corridor, oblivious of her imminent danger. At the very last moment, as Skippy begins to decelerate, the cat descends upon her from above, sending the dog into a panic. She begins to shiver as if cold, and looks at us, her supposed protectors, with confusion and terror.

Finally, and perhaps the most playfully cruel of her methods of torment is to wait behind a chair patiently until Skippy passes, at which point she stealthily follows in behind. When Kitty is close enough she swats Skippy's hind legs out from under her. At this point all those forces of physics that I know nothing about - momentum, velocity, inertia and friction - take over and Skippy slides across the laminate flooring until she collides any number of possible objects.

Let's take a moment of pity for Skippy, our victim Jack Russell terrier.

Now let's look at this a little closer. First of all, it is difficult not to laugh when you see this unfold in front of you; actually it's quite shocking. Initially there's laughter combined with shock, followed by small amounts of guilt and pity, and you comfort the dog through your smiles and later you laugh again when she is not looking. I guess what really amazes me about these situations is that Skippy seems to have the inability to learn from them. She must run down the entire length of the room. The innocence of her expression is sad to our pitying eyes. She is the only one who doesn't see; the only one who doesn't remember; the only one who is surprised. Seriously, what is up with this dog?

I took the photo right after the cat attacked Skippy twice. Every morning Skippy comes into the bedroom. Easy pickings says Kitty.

The Love/Hate Relationship of Skippy and Kitty: Skippy Loves - Kitty Hates

When my grandmother passed away four years ago my wife and I inherited her 5-year-old cat: a beautiful calico with the temperament of a reincarnated Cleopatra. Her name is Kitty and it did not take her very long at all to decide that she hated Jack Russell terriers. This might be a generalization on my part since she has not met any others. It could very well be that she only hates ours.What makes this situation all the more humourous is that Skippy is either completely unaware of this fact as if she could not comprehend the possibility that another creature, this new addition to the family, could dislike her, or she simply forgets that the cat hates her and therefore, approaches each new day assuming that they are best friends only to receive a paw across the face or become the object of vehement hissing reminding her that their relationship is one of distant toleration.

When the cat came, Skippy tried to make friends as best she knew how, having never been properly socialized with other animals. These repeated attempts employed the same tactic of frantically running up to Kitty's face and barking in it, then running away, then back again as if to scream, "I'm here! I'm here! We're playing now, right? Yes, we must be playing! Isn't life great!"

The cat responded as many of us would: "Dude, you're in my personal space and you have really bad breath. What, you're back again? I just told you that you're in my space! How old are you? Stop saying the same thing over and over again! I told you to get out of my face! If you do that again I'm going to slap you. And you're doing it again. Here-!" (slap) "And no, life isn't great because the old lady who fed me tuna and cream, is gone."

But the next day would bring with it a new sense of optimism for Skippy, or she simply had no recollection of their previous encounters and was therefore not able to learn from them. Kitty, though she clearly had no time for Skippy, soon caught on that something was amiss: there was definitely something not quite right with this dog and she was cunning enough to learn how to exploit it for her own sadistic enjoyment.

This is good general introduction to their relationship. I'll leave it here and continue with several episodes, labled with "Skippy" and "Kitty", and where we'll ask ourselves continually, "what's up with this Jack Russell?"

Is it me or does Skippy look slightly ill at ease?

Peculiar, Puzzling, Perfect: An Introduction to Skippy, the Jack Russell Terrier

I guess to begin with, I should explain a little about Skippy's history: yes, that is her name. It seems fitting for a Jack Russell. Some initial ideas were Scampy, Scamper, or perhaps even Petunia. These last three were eventually discarded and the name, Skippy was chosen.

We got Skippy from the SPCA in 2002. She had been rescued from a puppy milll. My guess is her tail was removed for easier breeding. She was understandably distraught and clearly traumatized. These circumstances, I'm sure, are contributors to many of her issues, but somehow they cast a more pitiable light on many of her odd mannerisms (which we'll get to very shortly). 

The SPCA figured that she was about three at the time, which puts her at about 11 years old. Now, I am not a Jack Russell expert by any sort, but I recall our veterinarian on one occasion telling us that this breed enters old age around eight years, but can live twice that long while in that geriatric state. Naturally, I was pleased to hear this. I also heard somewhere (honestly can't remember where) that the first two years are critical for terriers with respect to their training. I've never been to a puppy mill, but I'm going to go guess that obedience training is not high on their priority list, assuming they had one.

So what we have here is Jack Russell suffering from the effects of severe emotional trauma from the first three years of her life, in addition to potential senility or dementia, rounded out by a complete lack of training or healthy social interaction with other dogs or humans during those first three years.

I'm not making light of the unfortunate circumstance of her early life: they only endear her to me more. But I find many things about this dog intriguing and with every day that goes by I continually wonder whether this or that mannerism is a Jack Russell thing or is it simply because my dog has issues; or better yet, is it because she is an oddity: a fluke among all other dogs. Although most of her behaviour no doubt falls within the first two categories, or any combination of the two, I am convinced that a select few of them–the truly bizarre, the most anomalous, are a product of something that is uniquely "Skippy". Whatever the case may be, I still have to wonder: What is up with my dog?

-camping is one of the few times where she seems to be a 'normal' dog.