Discovering Fire

I was looking through some old camping photos and came across this one and had to laugh. She looks so young here, and very cute. It's from our first camping trip with Skippy and she had obviously never seen fire before. I remember it was a strange moment that caught me off guard. Something I had totally taken for granted—one's first campfire—was now being experienced by my dog. It wasn't until Skippy became totally captivated with the campfire that it occurred to me that this was not only new for her, but that it would also be a very strange phenomenon for a dog to see the first time.

If you happened to read my September 16th post, "That Something in the Rock," then you have a little glimpse into Skippy's ability to fixate. It's not an exaggeration to say that she stood like this the entire time we had the fire going. She occasionally moved into another position that afforded her a different view of the coals or the flame, but it always looked the same and she never tired of watching it.

Fire is old hat now. She'll still comes close for the heat, but no longer stares intently, mesmerized, as if in a trance as she did here on her first trip. I also remember Anna asking me if I thought Skippy would jump into the fire, as the dog seemed to inch herself closer and inquisitively lean her nose in just a bit further. "No, she's not stupid enough to climb into a fire and willingly burn herself." And then I thought about it a little more; my reason for saying this was that it would make no sense for any animal to do this. Animals instinctively know about the dangers of fire. They don't have to be burned by a forest fire to know it will kill them. But then when has Skippy ever obeyed common sense? I leaned closer and kept my arms free just in case our Jack Russell wanted to see what the fire tasted like.

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.

A Single-Minded Sense of Smell

I met another Jack Russell owner this summer on one of our excursions to cottage country, who told us that he uses his little dog to hunt deer. I thought that was strange. I am aware that Jacks are bred to hunt small game, like rabbits, but I could not picture a deer. According to this fellow (I didn't ask his name), Jack Russells have a more discerning sense of smell than hounds and can distinguish between old and newer scents. The beagle or the hound will follow an old scent for days, while the Jack will abandon it in search of one more recent. I found this fascinating and then tried to imagine Skippy hunting a deer. I imagined her catching up to it, then rolling over and asking for a belly rub. But the conversation also reminded me of something that happened during Skippy's third trip into Algonquin Park, involving a snake.

Skippy found a toad, as she often likes to do, which she proceeded to chase into a small crevasse between some large logs that supported one of the benches. Unfortunately for the toad, there was a garter snake in the crevasse who was glad for the free meal. Before that day, Skippy had never seen a snake; and it did not cease to capture her attention.

Over the next hour, while the snake digested the toad, we tried unsuccessfully to keep Skippy from sticking her nose or paws between the logs. I don't think the snake could have done anything to her, but my wife was paranoid about it. Trying to keep a Jack Russell, especially one with OCD like ours, away from its perceived prey is just an exercise in futility and frustration. They are surprisingly strong-willed creatures.

Eventually, the snake made a break for it, probably not wanting to wait around until Skippy got lucky and dragged it out. What surprised me was that it did this in front of the dog, while provoking no attack of opportunity. Skippy seemed not to notice. Yes, I too thought this was very strange, but she returned to her efforts to remove the snake from it's sanctuary, all the while sniffing frantically around the logs. But like a true Jack Russell, she quickly figured it out and started to track the snake, which was now about ten feet away, feeling very confident.

In fact, I think this snake was slightly over-confident: one might even say, brazen. Not only did it leave the logs right in front of Skippy's eyes without detection, but when it realized that she had now picked up the scent and was heading in its direction, it slithered right toward her. Skippy's face hovered above the ground like a sniffing metal detector. The snake came within inches of her face as it slithered between her legs. Skippy's motions remained unchanged. When she reached the spot where the snake had been, she turned back in the direction she had just come and continued to follow the trail. The snake stopped for a photo as it entered the brush, then continued on out of sight, successfully eluding our poor Jack Russell, who was still sniffing, unaware that the hunt was over.

What's up with my Jack Russell? Is her sense of smell so refined that it must eliminate the adequate function of her other senses? Or is she so single-minded when hunting so as to focus completely on the trail, blocking out all other distractions—including her prey? Again, I have no answers, but I really think she would have caught it if she hadn't been so focused on smelling it.

It should also be noted that for the eleven days following this incident she did not stop sniffing around the logs or the exact same path the snake had taken: we didn't see the snake again.

Skippy is a few feet away, hot on the trail.

Things Jack Russells Eat While Camping

When we go to Algonquin Park for our annual canoe trip we always pack enough food for Skippy. Sometimes, however, her pallet longs for more natural flavours. On various trips, these have included blueberries, toads, voles, and moles; and the occasional tree.

The blueberries were eaten quite by accident. One of the islands we stayed on happened to be covered with them. When you're in the wild, living on mostly processed food, fresh blueberries every morning and evening with desert provide welcome colour and nutrients to the diet. Skippy seemed quite interested in the whole picking process. At first she observed by walking back and forth between us, curious to see what we were doing. Once she understood, she decided to take part in the picking and began eating blueberries right off the bush.

I don't know why this surprised me. Sure, it was funny to see her essentially participating in our activity, but it spoke to a larger social reality. It got me thinking about pack mentality. Skippy was not merely mimicking an action, but she observed and understood the purpose of what we were doing as a group, and then began contributing to the effort. This behaviour that at first seemed quirky and very Skippy-like, was actually very dog-like and quite brilliant.

Skippy continued to impress me. Soon, her ability to catch small animals began to emerge. Now the toad was never actually eaten. She of course obsessed over it, as one would expect, but when she finally grabbed the toad with her mouth with the intention of eating, or so I assume, it was immediately spit back out. Skippy then hacked and began to look at us for help as the unwanted taste lingered in her mouth. She actually learned from this experience and has not done it since, although she still obsesses over them, sniffing them out between the rocks of every fire pit we visit.

If you've never seen a vole before, they are something like tiny mice; no match for a Jack Russell. The slightly larger, mole, was also easily caught by Skippy. She even brought us the carcass, setting her trophy down at our feet, completely proud of her deed: that made two of us. I felt bad for these little critters for a few seconds before I began to wonder: when did my dog become so cool? Is this the same creature that licks my furniture and is daily outwitted by my cat?

This story wouldn't become complete without something a little weird; and even this was probably more comical than weird. On our very first trip with Skippy in 2004 she just started eating trees. We couldn't figure this one out. We really tried, but between the four of us we could offer up nothing other than this was just enjoyable for her, and therefore probably seemed pretty normal in Skippy's world. So what's up with my Jack Russell? She's closet cool, that's what. You just have to take her camping to see it.

I guess I can imagine that this would be fun.

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.

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.