Jersey
I believe that dogs are proof that God loves us — that the Universe is on our side.
They are the Great Consolation Prize, to soften the blow of how hard life can be. Their very presence eases our suffering and lightens our load. I’ve heard a lot of people attempt to summarize the perfection of dogs by saying, ”they give unconditional love”.
Those people have, obviously, never been owned by a terrier.
While my earliest memories are of our family dog Ralph, the first dog who was mine alone was Jersey. Jersey grew up to be ten pounds of muscle, bone, and true grit. When I first met her, she was in utero — meaning, her mamma was pregnant with her and her siblings. That’s how powerful this dog was! Even from within the womb, about halfway through gestation, Jersey called to me. I loved her before she was born.
You might be thinking, “Back up a minute, Doc! How can you love a dog you’ve never met, who doesn’t, by some thinking, even exist yet?”
It’s like this: years had passed since I’d had a dog in my life. The family dog died while I was attending vet school. I had a couple of gorgeous, affectionate, and hilarious cats, Moco and Minnaloushe, but they weren’t suited to going outside (tried that, — epic fail). When I moved to Kentucky for the equine veterinary internship, the cats came with me and tolerated my extended absence. Then I started my first real vet job, and the hours were only slightly less grueling than the internship had been.
I wanted a dog, desperately. I didn’t think it was fair, with my lifestyle, to add a dog, unless they could come to work with me. My first vet vehicle was a 1996 Ford Bronco, and I stacked it to the gills with equipment. There was exactly one seat left empty, and half the time, that seat was filled with a boss or a coworker. Since I spent all day at horse barns and had a horse of my own to see when I wasn’t working, any dog who joined my family had to be comfortable around horses. I liked Big Dogs, and there was absolutely no room at all in that Bronco for any dog over 25 pounds. “Get a Jack Russell Terrier!” they said to me. “A Big Dog in a small body!”
The problem was… I really didn’t like Jack Russel Terriers. I mean — at all.
The ones I’d met were aggressive, scrappy, obstinate, kinda ugly (sorry), and not at all what I had in mind for my canine companion. Around and around and around I went, trying diligently to identify a dog whose temperament would suit my life, but whose size would also fit into my truck. The answer I kept getting was Jack Russell Terrier.
Eventually, my desire for a dog became my need for a dog. I began to read books on JRTs and how I might be the right kind of person to live with one. This process took at least a year. I am not, (never was), an Early Adopter. Change is hard for me. I resigned myself to the fact that my dog was going to be a Jack Russell.
This was my mindset on a summer day when I stopped at one of the barns on my route and the owner invited me up to the house for a glass of sweet tea. Her cattle dogs patrolled the barns and were familiar to me. At the house, I met her two Jack Russell Terrier dogs, who were house pets. These girls were pretty, sweet, and affectionate with me from the get-go. As I crouched by Jumper, tickling her chin, I muttered to myself, “Well, maybe a Jack like THIS one…” Her owner heard me, and immediately chirped, “Jumper’s pregnant! I’ll call you when the puppies are born!”
That was it.
I mean, in my mind, it wasn’t a done deal yet…but in my heart, I knew one of those pups would come home with me. And so it was — I met the 3 puppies in their first week of life when their eyes hadn’t opened yet. The markings on one of them grabbed my attention immediately. I tried to be reasonable, and wait until they got a bit older — but by four weeks of age, Jersey had made it clear to me that we were family.
The day I took her from her mom and siblings, we were in the truck for 10 hours. “Well, little pup, I hope you enjoy this kind of day. This is your life, now.” She seemed perfectly satisfied.
Part Two
Jersey spent all day, every day, in the truck, and in the horse barns. She took to it like a fish to water. At first, I had to carry her down the stairs of my second-floor apartment, she was that little, she couldn’t go up or down a step. As she grew older, she came on rides around the farm with me and Vita, my Standardbred mare. Eventually, Jersey got old enough to come on the extended trail rides organized by my friends. After a six-hour ride, the humans and horses would be exhausted, but Jersey would find a stick and bark at me to play fetch with her!
Just how challenging it is to be owned by a terrier can be summarized in my attempts to convince Jersey to eliminate outdoors. I’d take her outside to potty, where immediately she became engrossed in the smells, sights, and sounds that competed for her attention. Returning to the boring house, she’d suddenly remember that her bladder was full — and pee on the rug. I tried to give her food rewards when and if she went outside, but food was never a big motivator for Jersey. She liked to play and fetch was her favorite game.
I began playing ball, and after a few throws, I’d refuse to play until she had eliminated. As soon as she squatted, I’d make a huge fuss, and start throwing the ball or frisbee in a gleeful romp. It worked! At least, it appeared to work. Outdoor peeing became more common than indoor, and I thought I had trained my terrier. Then one day, after a long bout of play, I called Jersey back to me. She knew I was ending the game, and looked at me, from a distance, with the huge tennis ball in her mouth. I called her again. With an unwavering gaze, she threw her rear legs apart, and squatted to pee, in the most determined way I have ever witnessed. Then she walked up to me and dropped the ball at my feet.
“I’d Been Had… she beat me at my own game.
She knew that peeing outside meant I’d throw the ball. I was rarely able to outsmart my dog; she was always at least three steps ahead of me. Physically, she was a marvel. Just over ten inches tall at the shoulder, she weighed between 10-11 pounds. As I said above, she was pure, rippling muscle, bone, and tendon, a powerful ball of compressed energy, always ready to spring into action. On those horse rides, she could keep up with us, unless we were flat-out galloping — and even then, she wasn’t far behind. At an easy canter, Jersey could easily keep pace with the horses.
She had a favorite game to play on these rides. Jersey would run alongside the horse, aligning herself with me.
I could see how she enjoyed running flat out like this, her tiny body stretching and compressing and stretching again, covering the same ground as the horse — who was more than 60 times taller than her! At some point, inspired by who knows what, she would kick into yet another gear. With a sudden burst of speed, she would launch forward, passing the horse. She’d get far enough in front of us to spin 360 degrees in a circle, barking twice as she faced us, cantering towards her! Quick as a flash, she’d drop back down, now on the opposite side of the horse, once again running beside me.
Tessa loved watching her do this; Vita hated it. Vita was a racehorse by nature, and being second to a dog was not something she enjoyed or accepted. The first few times she did it, I gasped, and tugged on the reins to slow my mare. After a while, I understood the game and only applied pressure to Vita if I felt her accelerate when Jersey was in front.
I’ve got so many Jersey stories, I could fill a New York City phone book. Yes, I realize I am showing my age with that reference, and that many of you have never seen a phone book.
