Forward Thinking With No Strings Attached

If you haven't read my previous post, "Can You Help Me Please? I'm Stuck Again," I encourage you to do so before you read this just to give you some prior knowledge of Skippy's inability to retrace her steps. She also has a knack for getting herself tangled in her outside rope. In that previous post I talked about her getting tangled around the wheels of the Jeep and my motorcycle, but even two nights ago, she had gotten so tangled in between the porch steps and the flower pot, I couldn't figure out how she did it. I had to unhook her and pull the rope free from the other end. But this ability to get stuck truly has nothing to do with rope, and everything to do with her ability to only conceptualize forward motion.

Before you read on, check the picture below on Skippy sitting happily on the rock. What you can't see, is that rock is easily 10 feet high and directly in front of Skippy is a straight drop to the ground. Skippy managed to walk through woods to the right of it and eventually found her way to the top. It's just a gradual slope that comes up behind. You can see from her expression that she is very proud of herself as she towers over all of us.

Like all novelties that wear off, Skippy became satisfied with her time away from us and decided she wanted to return to the world of people's shins. This is the problem that now confronted Skippy: "How do I get down from here by stepping forward?" She looked behind her to see the gradual decline of the forest floor that would return her to safety. But it was "behind" her, and therefore, a mere pipe dream, a flight of fancy, an "if only." She looked forward again. Forward was the only way she knew.

She peered over the ten-foot drop, then looked at us for a last-resort solution: but there was none other than the one before her. She stepped to the edge of the tiny cliff and lowered her back to its pre-leap stance, and I realized that she was really going to jump. I yelled her name and she backed up an inch and kept her eyes trained on me as I walked around to the back of the large boulder, picked her up and brought her down.

Even with all of the insane and non-sensical things she has done, it did not occur to me at all that a jump from that height was even an option, let alone the only option. I wonder if she conceptualized her own broken bones as she processed her decision to move forward. And if she had, it clearly didn't matter. So, what is up with my Jack Russell? Anyone?

Think you're clever, eh? Let's see you get down.