I Should have Known Better

Jack Russell Terriers come straight from the factory with the recall button replaced by the enthusiasm pump. They are enthusiastic about everything from yellow snow to green cow poo. However, they are selectively deaf and only know their names if there is a treat involved. That they grab quick and run away.

But still. I can sometimes get away with letting Mack run loose for a few minutes when the snow is deep and the temperature is low. Those dangly bits are pretty close to the ground and all.

This morning I was trying to write. I get paid to write...at least sometimes....and I was really into it.

The dogs decided they needed to go out.

Again.

So I put the leash on Finn...much more fur and higher off the ground...and let the little one run.

Great plan.

He instantly vanished. But for the highways nearby I would have let him. However, I didn't want to ruin anyone's day by putting him in their path. Otherwise he would eventually get cold and come barking at the door.

Instead I heard him barking down by the heifer barn. Tracks said there was also a cat. We have no cats, but evidently one has us. He was alternately barking at a hole the snow and jumping the fence to run down the hill.

I tried to lure him closer with a cough drop. Alas, although he is a greedy dog,  he is not stupid.

The cough drop was a fail.

The whole deal was a fail. I had on crocs without socks. Adequate to stand in the shoveled path with dogs. Not so much in ankle deep snow. 

The little creep kept coming back to check out the cough drop just in case it had somehow morphed into a sirloin steak, but alas, it was still just cherry and menthol. 

I knew I HAD to get my hands on him before he headed down to the road. He has no car sense atall...well actually no any kind of sense atall but...

There in a tree on the other side of the fence in deep, deep snow was a duck skin. See that weasel I wrote about a couple months ago got in the barn and killed all but a couple of my very favorite poultry...the Call Ducks. Evidently something had made off with a skin and left it dangling.

I climbed up the bank and leaned way, way out over the waist-deep snow and managed after several tries to get my hands on the flimsy scrap of feathers, lamenting the late duck as I did so. I really loved those ducks. Quacky little sillies all noise and flutter....

Then I basically fell off the bank into the barnyard.

I shook the thing at the dog. 

He was on it in a flash and I was on him even quicker. I lugged him back up to the house on frozen feet, while he wagged and smiled and was happy as a pig in mud. 

He is in his crate now contemplating the error of his ways (letting me catch him before he caught the cat and ate the duck skin) while my feet thaw and a second cup of coffee soothes this savage beast. Dogs...ya gotta love 'em. Sometimes more than others.

Outdoor Cats

Everybody thinks I don't like cats

We used to have barn cats. A lot of them. Shortly before I met the boss a lady he knew gave him three big kittens. By the time I had known him a couple of years as many as 75 cats came to the milk dish at chore time...all of them various combinations of black, white, or grey, with lots of silver tabbies thrown in. There were nice ones and nasty ones and pretty ones and ugly, battle-scarred, old Toms. 

This is a falsehood

Rats were not a problem then. I think they had one of those signs hobos used to leave on doorposts down at the bottom of the driveway, "Don't bother stopping here."

The cats ALL had names, some of them cute, some clever, some descriptive, and some profane. We all liked them. There was a veritable barn cat culture, with stories, relationships, and a lot of silliness. I wrote any number of Farm Side columns including one entitled "Dances with Barn Cats" about trying to carry a pail of milk to the calves amid the seething throng.

Speaking of names..this was Chainsaw, a great favorite of mine
his nickname was "Chain"

Then came the coyotes. At the time I met the boss there were no coyotes here at all. A few years later there were a lot of them. They eat cats, jsyk. I guess they ate ours because by the time we sold the cows there were only two or three cats left. The smart ones. The ones that stayed near the barn. They are all gone now.

He liked to help with the fencing

We had to wait for him so the coyotes didn't get him out there on the hills

The kids would like to get barn cats again and I understand, I really do. But in all the years we had cats the lazy ones always hunted at the bird feeders. They didn't eat House Sparrows either. Nope it was always a Rose-breasted Grosbeak or Northern Cardinal that they captured and all too often left on the porch as a sort of reward for me I guess. No thanks guys, I like them better in the trees.

Pumpkin

Miss Catty-fach

It's a worldwide problem and accounts for literally millions of songbirds every year. I won't get into that but it doesn't seem fair to offer the local birds a nice lunch counter in return for letting me watch them, and then put THEM on the menu. Plus I always ended up being the one feeding and caring for the cats once the new wore off. The kids say I don't like cats, but really I do. It just feels hypocritical for me to facilitate outdoor felines and wild birds in the same yard.

The infamous Elvis

So no barn cats now.

I loved Elvis, for all his foibles, and truly hated the damned  dog that killed him

Imagine my chagrin when this morning I paused as always on the stair landing on my way downstairs. Crows were alarm calling and the Carolina Wrens were frantic.

And no wonder. Right in the middle of the driveway was a big, black, cat, seated leg-o-mutton style, having a nice wash. Dagnabbit. Visitor from the housing development next door, stray, or drop off....I wonder.

When I took the doggos out he was gone, but you should have seen the little guy's mackles come up when he smelled where the intruder had been sitting. He knew. 

Then when we passed the car he went nuts (not a long trip for a Jack Russell Terrier, I know, but still).

The cat was under the car. 

The dog began swearing and leaping and muttering and thrashing. I dragged him indoors and let him off the lead, planning to coax him into his kennel with a biscuit as always.

Hah! Prey drive in a JRT is equal to the herding instinct in a Border Collie. All circuits were busy. He even blew the inside door open and got on the porch (and thank you, Alan for the strong outside door, which stopped him.) I had to grab some MacScruff and haul him back in.

No biscuit for you buddy!

I suppose this kitty must be a drop off. It is pretty tame for a stray, and it didn't streak off toward town when threatened by the Mack. I am not excited about having to walk the little juggernaut several times a day with him out there. The birds aren't happy either.

However: I DO like cats and I can prove it.

Cat story

Another cat story

Cats with thumbs

Herding Cats

Elvis was weird

Hardhearted Farmers

He's got a knife

There are many more cat stories available here if you search "cats" and plenty of fun with perhaps my favorite cat of all time, Elvis, if you search for his name....I am not sure what will happen with the guy under the car, but I'll bet there will be a story in that too.

Serial

Nick, looking askance. 

Each dog, Mack first, and then Finn, felt the need to carry the blinkie ball up to the backyard this morning. The blinkie ball is a much contested treasure...beloved by both....but they usually leave it in the kitchen.

What was up with that anyhow? 

Debating on doggy arrangements for camp. Thinking take Mack, leave lovely Finn home, just because he is big and hairy. Not to mention young and a little timid and I fear losing hold of him and having him vanish in the wilderness. On the other hand he is really a much nicer doggy...

What do you think?

I was Never One

Biscuit required to get him to be still for a moment

To dress up dollies, or even to play with them unless they could somehow be coaxed to ride plastic horses or sit in toy cars that we ran down the tilted side rail of an old bed in order to crash them better.....(Barbie had it tough at our house)....

Undaunted, he eats the stove for dessert

Now I find myself dressing a DOG!!!

But is cold and he shivers so. And he loves his new jacket that Becky bought him.

And speaking of girls who play with toy horses.....do turn up your sound to hear the training instructions.

National Dog Day

The Fairy Wogdog

Is no relation to either of ours....

Yesterday Mack laid a good one on me. Of course I should have known that a Jack Russell terrier would have guts of granite and a constitution to match, but I am used to Border Collies.

They are much more tender.

Anyhow, each morning I have been taking Fin out on a leash and letting Mack run loose...in order that neither be inside barking while I walked the other, in deference to the night shift. They have a great time mauling each other.

I think it will be a long time before I can trust them together though. Mack loves the pup, but he is so darned fierce. I fear he might hurt him without meaning to.

Then I bring Fin inside to have his breakfast and leave Mack out to hunt rats. Yesterday he was most successful....except that his chosen prey was the lovely carcass of a deceased chicken.

A long deceased chicken. Bones, feathers and decay.

Or actually, upon further research, two of them. I think he found them up under the small chicken coop, which is vacant because something...probably rats....was killing the teenaged chickens there.

Guess the clean up crew missed a couple.

I did not discover the crime until AFTER I had given Mack his breakfast. He was bulging in an interesting fashion and looked as if he might soon pup a nice litter.

Then all day long he ate newspapers. This is not normal for him. I guess he wanted to pad the bone ends or something. I worried, as worrywarts are prone to do. We had just finished getting the other pup over some typical Border Collie tummy troubles. Just what I needed.

However, this morning the signs of pregnancy have subsided and he seems to be his usual obnoxious and overbearing self, barking at something or other and tearing around like a wild man....btw, Jade went back on days and the darned dog is back on his cable....bark away, buddy, bark away....

Me, on the other hand....at least ten new grey hairs.....see, right here.....

You work with what you got

Prior to the knee I had a reasonable routine worked out....for doggies that is.

First thing in the AM, walk the pup on a leash and put Mack up in back on his running cable. Let him exercise on the cable until the sun got warm, bring him in, leash walk him at noon, and put him back out there when it got cool later in the day...

It worked for everyone. I don't let him loose with Fin because he has such a tremendous prey drive that I'm afraid he'll kill him.

Enter the knee. Just one trip up the muddy slope to the backyard laid me right up. Thus I now walk the pup, crate him, and just let Mack outside loose. He is such a hunter.... he peruses the yard and barnyard for vermin at warp speed. He has a lot of fun and it's fun to watch him at it.

This morning all was in place. I was washing dishes and keeping half an eye out the window for him. He was hunting under the horse trailer.......when an all too familiar scent wafted in the open door.

Oh, crepes! Not that!

I quickly crated the little guy, closed the doors, which were propped open, and went out to assess the damage. Plans whirled through my head of how Mack was going to have a nice vacation over in the cow barn...in solitary...

For a week at least. Or two. A month. Or two. A year....you get my drift.

I was getting some drift too, and it sure didn't smell good out there in the yard. My heart was down at my knees. I was all clean and showered, nice fresh clothes and all, and now I had to catch my dog......who was certainly neither clean, nor freshly showered, and probably not smelling of roses and daffodils either.

I called. Called again. "Here Mack."

And he came, bustling up like a good boy.

Covered with mud, panting and soggy with dew, but smelling only of muddy dog. I don't know what riled the skunk, or where it is, or anything else about it.... But at least he didn't get the dog....and that's what counts.

Alas, I obviously now have to cook up a new knee-saving morning  routine, as, if there is a skunk out there, probably Mack should not be hunting off leash.

Dagnabbit.

BTW I discovered, much to my surprise, that he comes when I blow my shepherd's whistle just like the old BCs did. Which is handy.

Hover Dog

Not wishing to land

JRT

A Jack Russell Terrier is made out of rubber. Not just light-weight rubber band rubber either. 

No, JRTs are formed with the rubber they use to make tires for those giant Ukes down in open quarries and mines...you know the ones that can haul half a state in one box load. Only stronger and bouncier.

Inside that high grade rubber covering is an assortment of high tensile springs, coiled utterly tightly, with hair trigger releases. The merest puff of air will set them loose. Or a tap on the door. Or the Carolina Wren scolding an imaginary cat. Boinga, boinga, boinga.... Like a jack-in-the-box....or should I say Mack-in-the-box?

The springs are connected to each other with bungee cords, serious, hearty, hefty bungee cords, dare I say, presidential bungee cords, strong enough to hold a piano, should it wish to bungee jump.

A big piano, with an exuberant demeanor.

JRT schematic 

On the bottom are paws, four of them, each tipped with a full set of Damascus steel swords, small swords mind you, but sharp and tough. Tough enough to grind up the piano after it bungee jumps, leaving only expensive sawdust behind. Mere human hide is shredded like tissue.

On the front we find the laser eyes, able to detect the tiniest morsel of something the JRT shouldn't eat, including little tacks that fall out of the junk drawer, Peggy's favorite toys, raisins, socks, boots, bags, pens, oh, never mind, they can detect anything......everything.....faster even than the guy with the big S on his shirt and the red cape.

The sniffy smeller is also located at the front and is capable of finding chicken poop from half a mile away...whereupon the Hoover mechanism kicks in.

Flappy ears on top are even more sensitive and can hear Box Elder Bug feet as they scurry across the floor, triggering the powerful herding instinct of the JRT.

Also out front is a set of pointy little shark teeth, stolen from an infant hammerhead swimming in the Romanche Trench. These teeth are fully capable of shredding all materials, from paper to hardwood flooring and are always ready for action.

At the rear is the latest model of waggy-tail, which wiggles faster than a flea on a red-hot griddle, especially when trouble is in the offing. With a JRT it's all trouble.

The whole shebang is covered with rugged leather hide in a perfect tan-and-white pattern, with pink on the underside. The pink is delicate and dainty and gives an utterly false impression of what is contained within. It does serve however, to make the ticks quite visible, so the morning rings with, "Oh, no, another tick! Get the tweezers."

Because a JRT is low-slung like a Ferrari....only faster.

Powering this pint-sized juggernaut is a self-cooling, chicken meat (or at least that's what they claim on the can) powered super computer.If you think that Android or iPhone is powerful...well, the guys that run Anonymous don't have computers this powerful. It can process information at a speed far beyond that of mere light, and the rest of the package can propel the creature to something he shouldn't have..... faster than a mere human brain can realize that it is going to fall on the floor.

This brain is held within a bony structure no bigger than a tennis ball, and yet produces nine bazillion megabytes of madness per second.....

All this might seem a trifle intolerable, especially for a sedentary person, tasked with keeping up with this little wild thing....

However, at the very front of every model, right between the shocks and the front quarter panels, we find the love center. Jack Russell Terriers produce love faster than a romance novel and stronger than Valentine's Day. It is impossible not to love them back.

Yeah, we love our Mackalacking, Macanudo, Mack Truck, Mad Max, favorite dog in the world.......Mack, indeed we do.

If I Kill it

Then it's mine, right?

Cuz  I brought home dinner!

I'll share!

Puppy Problems

Get him out of my bed!

Seriously! He's got MY chew toy

Who me?

I can't watch....