Skippy and the Bully

I would say that since the summer of this year the relationship between Skippy and Kitty has improved significantly. The direct cause of this has to do with a general improvement in the cat's temperament. It seems that Kitty no longer hisses when Skippy walks by. The two of them have peacefully passed away hours within a few feet of each other as they napped on our bed. And Skippy has been allowed to barrel down the living room corridor unhindered whenever she enters the house. Needless to say, it's been a relatively peaceful home these past five weeks. What has effected this change in our usually callous cat? I don't know; but just this week she relapsed into her old ways.

In our kitchen we have two water dishes out for the animals, along with Skippy's Brain Diet food (the cat's food is up high because Skippy was eating it). Skippy began eating, following her usual routine (totally a future blog post in itself) of grabbing a few pieces of food from her dish, bringing them into the living room, eating them and returning for more. Kitty, who was lurking nearby, placed herself beside Skippy's dish and decided to interrupt the routine. When Skippy returned for another mouthful, the cat hissed repeatedly, driving her away. Skippy tried a second time but there the cat remained, hissing over and over until Skippy skulked away, crying. She jumped up onto the couch where my wife was sitting and began to shake.

Skippy had gotten used to this improved level of tolerance and had become quite complacent with Kitty. Maybe this was intentional on the cat's part: some elaborate scheme to get Skippy to let her guard down, perhaps. It's difficult to tell with cats sometimes, how much of their behaviour is planned with an end result in mind, or how much is merely a whim. Either way, I think Kitty simply saw an opportunity to amuse herself, and us too, as it turns out; because, as much as we sympathize with Skippy's plight in this situation, we can't ignore how funny it was.

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.

When Self-Preservation Goes Out the Window

Most of us have probably heard of or learned about the survival instinct of animals from somewhere; maybe it was from high school biology, perhaps the Discovery Channel, or depending on your vintage, Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. I'm sure the specifics of our lessons vary greatly, but I don't think I'm assuming much to say that it's fairly common knowledge that animals, and most humans, would not knowingly act in such a a way that would put them in danger, but act in a way as to preserve their lives. Sure a cheetah will perhaps venture into lion territory for the hope of a meal, but the need to prevent certain death by starvation, outweighs the potential risk of death by lion. My point is that the same cheetah would not jump off of a cliff in hopes of catching that same prey, regardless of its hunger. Where am I going with this? I'm pretty sure my Jack Russell's survival instinct is broken.

Like most dogs, Skippy loves to hang her head out the window of a moving vehicle and feel the wind push her lips back to her ears. The first time she wanted to her head out the window, I obliged but only after I attached her leash to her collar. For some reason I was hesitant to trust her to make good decisions. She was excited but only went so far as putting her hind feet on the arm-rest of the door in an attempt to expose more of her surface area to the wind. She followed this same pattern for the next few trips, gradually leading to believe this would be the norm. I think you know where this is going.

I have seen too much of Skippy's eccentricities and irrational behaviour to ever trust her completely; even with something as seemingly obvious as not plunging to her own death. Surely she must have known the extent of the danger awaiting her just outside the window. But maybe she didn't. In her eagerness to get as much wind as possible, she somehow managed to get all four of her paws onto the door's narrow window ledge. We were going 80 km/h! This was absolutely insane. Despite my reservations, I was totally surprised but managed to yank her back into the safety of the Jeep before she plummeted to the highway.

If she were human we would not hesitate to say this was completely stupid; but we understand the extent of the danger. And unless there are several unreported dog deaths from falling out of car windows at high speed, I would assume that most dogs also recognize this danger. The question is, what happened to Skippy's innate self-preservation? The answers is, I have no idea. So what is up with my Jack Russell?

"I just want wind over my entire body!"