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.

I Don't Know You, but Can You Rub My Belly? Please?

There are a lot of reasons why people get dogs. Perhaps the most common is companionship. I know that for some, protection is a big reason, not loving their dogs any less than those who made the decisions for other reasons. With Skippy, it was pity. Let's be honest about it. How many of us fall into the latter category? Seeing this trembling Jack Russell looking out from the glass during a trip to the local SPCA, made on a whim, was certainly enough to draw our attention. Finding out her history as rescued breeding dog from a puppy mill, evoked our pity. I think the clincher had to be her complete willingness to roll over upon seeing the extended hand of a stranger. Then, the strangers were us. She still rolls over for us; that is unless she has escaped, whereby she rolls over for just about anyone but us.

When it comes to being naughty, I have no doubt that Skippy is just as normal as other Jack Russells. The breed seems to have an innate disposition toward mischief. And, from what I've heard from other owners, I can't complain. She doesn't destroy anything or rip anything apart. And unless we've left out food, that is within 16 inches from the floor, we generally don't have any issues. But what Skippy does love to do is escape.

Given the opportunity, Skippy will dart through the door to freedom and with great speed leave the invisible borders of our property. The first few times this happened, I engaged in the most frustrating exercise in futility I have ever known in an attempt to retrieve her. It was a game to Skippy. She would ignore my calls and wait until I was almost close enough to grab her before she shot off down the road away from me. Then she would stop on the road and wait until I again drew closer, and continue the game. After ten minutes of this, I just walked home. My wife was very unimpressed with me when I returned empty-handed. "See if you can catch her," I responded. What else could I say. She came home five minutes later.

On another occasion, soon after we got her, I attempted the same approach with some minor adjustments, but the result was unchanged: the dog doesn't come when you call her and she is definitely faster than me. This time something different happened, which both shocked and annoyed me. A couple was walking in the opposite direction of our chase, and seeing that I needed help, they called to her. Skippy ran up to them and rolled onto her back and waited for her belly rub, which she got. Why would this dog listen to a stranger and not to me? I wasn't yelling and I was careful to mask my frustration with a cheerful and playful tone. That was eight years ago and she still doesn't come when you call her and she will still always come to a stranger.

She rarely escapes now, unless a visitor accidentally leaves the door ajar for a moment. It's easily preventable: you just have to make sure the door is never left open. That seems simple, but for some reason Grandma and Grampa seem to forget this. I think that's why Skippy loves it when they look after her. Just recently, we had come home from being away. Skippy was at my wife's parents (Grandma and Grampa's). There was a message on the phone from our vet: Skippy was in the home of woman who had found her walking down her street. Apparently, Skippy just ran up to her and rolled over. That's great. What's even better is that Grandma and Grampa didn't know she was gone. When we called the lady to get our dog back she offered some really helpful advice. She said, "You know, you should probably keep a better eye on your dog. She's so friendly that she could just be taken by anyone." Yeah, thanks. I'll keep that in mind.

And what's with the no eye-contact? Completely strange if you ask me.

My Favourite Cat is Cat Deeley

Two nights ago we had a severe thunderstorm that lasted nearly five hours. The thunder was close and the lightning, continual. Skippy's anxiety during these times reaches record highs and makes the trip to the vet seem like camping. I realize that many dogs have issues when it comes to storms and in that respect, Skippy is no different; but like humans, I believe that how a dog handles itself in a time of crisis says something about their character. So who does Skippy cling to to weather the storm? Who pulls her through when thunder is closing in all around her as she shakes, shivers, and pants? Cat Deeley.Yes, that is how strange my Jack Russell is: only Cat Deeley will do. Did you expect something normal like me or my wife?

Even before we can hear advancing thunder, Skippy is keenly aware of it and begins to tremble. She can't sleep, which means neither can we. About a year ago we discovered, during a storm, mostly through trial and error, that the only thing that would calm Skippy down was, "So You Think You Can Dance?" We set the laptop up on the bed and tried various shows to try to distract her, but it was only when my wife put on "So You Think You Can Dance?" that she began to calm down. We also discovered, when we turned the volume down in an attempt to get some sleep, that the attraction to the show was not visual: she needed to hear it. We accepted this as the lesser of two evils, and Skippy was soon lulled into a sleep-like trance. Such was the pattern for the past year.

So what's the attraction to "So You Think You Can Dance?" Is it the music? That's what we thought until two nights ago. We activated our severe thunderstorm Skippy safety plan and began the usual ritual of SYTYCD, but opted to go with the Canadian version because my wife hadn't seen the newest episode. But she can only take so much of the stupidity of the French judge, so after nearly a half-hour of, "You lifted the ceiling on that house," she decided to switch to the American version.

During this time, Skippy had not settled down. She was still trembling and trying to stifle her whines; but when Cat Deeley said, "Welcome to 'So You think You Can Dance,' I'm your host, Cat Deeley," Skippy laid her head next to the laptop and drifted off to the sound of her soothing English accent. This is when we made the connection. It's ridiculous enough that she only goes down to SYTYCD, but even more so that it has to be the versions featuring Deeley. The lengthy duration of the storm allowed us to test this theory.

When the show ended, we put on the Australian version - no Cat in this one. Skippy roused herself. She looked to us with her pleading eyes, confused as to why we would do such a thing. Even though it was the same show, she became unsettled again: not as unsettled as with the Canadian version, but she clearly detected something suspicious in the Australian accent. It was friendly, but you couldn't curl up by the fire with it. We finally switched to the British version. Cat Deeley spoke her magic words, and her voice, sweet as honey, lulled Skippy into a deep slumber once again.

This story makes me howl. What a great dog. Thank you, Britain, for your proper diction and annunciation; and thank you for Cat Deeley. If my dog could thank you she would lick the furniture you sit on. The differentiation between T.V. shows and the purposeful attachment to a specific British T.V. host as a means of finding solace in a time of heightened stress, certainly demonstrates intelligence. But isn't it just weird? And bizarrely eccentric? And don't we all find eccentric people really strange? That's because they are. So what is up with my Jack Russell? I have no idea.

Cat Deeley's biggest fan.