Mischief Unmanaged

Probably one of the most frustrating things Jack Russell owners have to deal with, and I am just speaking to my own experience, is their dog’s ingrained aptitude for mischief. Many owners have Jacks that destroy; pillows are ripped apart, sandals, slippers and shoes are enthusiastically eaten. Thankfully, Skippy’s tastes have, up until now, only been limited to food or things that were food at one time. But it seems that no matter how much we discipline, deter, or deprive our Jack Russells of the opportunity for mischief, they inevitably give in to their compulsions and manage to cause trouble of all sorts.

When we first got Skippy we learned quickly that any food left out was vulnerable. I set two muffins on the kitchen table, one at my place and another at my wife’s.  I left for a moment to go tell her the coffee was ready and when I came back, the muffin that I had put at my place was gone; no traces of crumbs; no evidence of foul play; no Skippy; no muffin. At the best of times, I am very absent-minded and so I tend to distrust myself when things go missing. I assumed that I had just not put a muffin out for me yet. It wasn’t until after the coffee that I noticed a few crumbs on the kitchen floor leading to one of the bedrooms, where I found our guilty-looking Jack Russell.

Not long after this incident I realized that it didn’t necessarily have to be food on the table to tempt Skippy. I had made a rub comprised of a mixture of spices that prominently featured cayenne pepper. I left it out on the table to be used later. That this would soon be eaten by my newly acquired Jack Russell, had not even entered my brain. Plenty of water and two days of digestion issues later and Skippy finally recovered. But what fascinated me was that, despite the intense heat which increases exponentially with every taste, she continued to eat the whole dish. So we learn yet another lesson. That leaves us with the compost bin, which we now have to make sure is snapped shut because Skippy seems to have a real hankering for old coffee grounds and rotten food scraps.

Sometimes we let out guard down when our dogs go on good behaviour streaks. Just the other week my wife heard some rustling from the study and remembered that she might have left out an open box of cookies. When she entered the room, there was Skippy with a narrow box of Swedish cookies shoved over her muzzle, bobbing her head back trying to use gravity to help her reach the last two cookies now stuck at the bottom of the box. She turned to face my wife; her eyes full of guilt; her cookie-box face hung low, full of shame.  Quite a site to behold.

Despite our best efforts, we will undoubtedly always give our Jack Russells opportunity for mischief and we can be certain that given that opportunity, they will always take it; or at the very least, I can be certain that Skippy will.

Extremely Stubborn or Incredibly Lazy?

I think it is normal for animals to move when their personal space is invaded or disrupted. Agreed? Good. So what's the deal with my dog, then? My cat seems to have no problem understanding this concept. When she is lying on my lap and I need to get up, I only have to move slightly and she gets the hint and leaves. Skippy, on the other hand, would gladly stay on my lap until I am almost upright and gravity takes over. It's tempting to see if she would actually let herself fall; but as she starts to slide off my lap when I begin to stand, it's clear that she would rather tumble two feet to the floor than move out of the way.

This refusal to move isn't just limited to lap-time. Skippy occupies a small space on the bed at night, due to her need to get up and walk around on the laminate floor at 3 o'clock in the morning; so we compromise. On more than one occasion one of us has woken up to the sound of too little air being drawn desperately into a small pair of Jack Russell lungs. We then realize that one of us has rolled onto the dog and is slowly suffocating her. Good job, Skippy. Whatever you do, don't move or try to save yourself. We even woke up once to see her wedged between the wall and the bed, legs dangling in the air. Apparently, we had nudged her over too far. She just looked at me, stuck as she was, trying to figure out what happened. Here's some advice, Skippy: move.

Another time, she climbed in between the duvet and its cover to find a cozy place for an afternoon nap. Before she could get comfortable she did that nesting thing that Jack Russells do, but as she was rapidly moving around and pawing at the duvet, she fell off the bed while still inside the cover, and the duvet followed on top of her. She landed in a crumpled ball of fabric. We could see her shape moving a little as she looked around her. There was no visible way out and so she decided to lie back down and continue her nap until she was rescued.

In a slightly related incident, but far less deadly, Skippy climbed into the laundry hamper for a nap while my wife was making the bed. When the dirty sheets were unknowingly thrown on top of her, Skippy did not budge. Why move? We could bury her under heaps of dirty clothes and she would lay there, wheezing, indefinitely. So, what's up with my Jack Russell? Is she so innately stubborn or is she actually that lazy? I'd like to suggest a third option. How about crazy?

Maybe if I'm quiet I could live here.

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.