Skippy's New Digs

With the economy the way it is, we try to save anywhere we can. Turning the heat down during the sleeping hours is one recommended way to save on your gas bill through the winter months. The idea being that the house is at a comfortable ambient temperature during the day and at night you double up on your blankets. My wife has taken this logic to the next level by reasoning that we could save even more money by not turning the heat back up during the day, and keep warm by wearing sweaters (jumpers). The logic worked. We're saving money, but our tiny Jack Russell is freezing.

One tends to forget that some dog breeds don't have a whole lot more insulation than us. Skippy's hair is straight, and although the individual hairs are thick, her coat isn't. She's also very wee. I'm not exactly sure how body heat works but I can't imagine that she generates a lot of it (that being said, if I'm sick she makes a great hot-water bottle substitute). But Skippy is a pretty skittish dog as a general rule, so when we began to notice that she was shaking throughout the day, as if a thunderstorm was on the horizon, we just chalked it up to her nerves. 

Eventually we caught on that she was actually cold in our 15° C home—imagine that. We needed to get her a jumper too. So Anna picked this little t-shirt up for her, and now Skippy thinks she's so pretty. She prances up and down the length of the house, parading around in her new digs, trying to make Kitty jealous. I don't think she cares, Skippy, but we think you're cute.

If anyone at all can offer an explanation as to what this means, can you please post a comment? It has completely baffled us.

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.

A Will of Iron and a Bladder to Match

It's been raining pretty heavily here the past couple of days. Steadily, the water has filled the massive depressions in our driveway, not letting up even for an hour. It has periodically turned to wet snow and a mixture of shmang that melts when it lands on the deck. I would describe it as generally unpleasant. I'm not complaining, though; days of steady rain, even when it comes in torrents as it did this morning, are definitely better than days of continual, heavy snowfall. I'm sure those in the UK, who are currently experiencing the most recent onslaught of winter's wonderland, would agree. But it's during days like these, when the rain refuses to let up, that Skippy's stubborn, Jack Russell determination outweighs her physiological need to urinate.

She will hold off as long as possible, before letting us know that an accident on the floor is imminent. I opened the door for her last night and she slowly walked out onto the porch before stopping, looking behind her to see if I'm watching, then turn back to the stairs before her. The rain continued to pour. I opened the door and told her go down the stairs. These words are familiar to her. She almost expects them now after years of repetition; in fact we often need to prompt her in dry weather as well or she waits at the top, hoping for the instructions she is now so used to hearing.

It's with good reason that I now wait and watch to see what she'll do. Many times I've seen her pee right outside the door on the deck because she didn't want to get wet. I've also seen her walk down the stairs, after being inside all day, then turn around, walk back up the stairs to the door and start barking to be let in. I send her down once more. She goes down the stairs. This time she waits at the bottom for about ten seconds (don't forget it's still pouring out), then comes back up the stairs when she feels enough time has passed. We play this game a few more times before she realizes that I'm not going to let her win, and she finally pees. It has been three minutes in a cold rain storm and she's soaked and shivering.

So let me see if I understand this, Skippy: by your own choice you haven't urinated in eight hours and now you're perfectly willing to come back inside and possibly hold off for what—another eight? And not only are you determined to do this, but you are so determined that you'll spend an extra two minutes in the very rain you've been avoiding, just so you won't have to be out in that rain while peeing. Sure thing, weirdo.