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?"