You Can Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

by Brenda J. Christie

This one is easy.

I forgot to change the water bowls today.

Jakk didn't forget and made it a point to register his dissatisfaction.

Jakk sat in the bowl - the largest one.  Note:  Sitting in the bowl is different from falling in the bowl -  it is an intentional act.

Then I changed the water in the water bowl.

You can teach an old dog new tricks!

Bye for now,

Brenda J. Christie

Want to Know How That Puddle Got There?

by Brenda J. Christie

As I've mentioned in earlier posts, Jakk has dementia.  Getting stuck in corners and not knowing how to get out, how he got there, or where he is, is normal daily behavior for Jakk.  In fact, it seems like he looks for places to get lost.  If I haven't mentioned it previously, I'll make sure to write about it sometime in the near future.

But, being the terror he can be, Jakk has to change it up sometime.  His most recent antic is to fall into a water bowl and then track his wet paw prints all over the house.  Want to know how he does it?  See below.

The Doggy Is a Woose!

by Brenda J. Christie

FrankieBean

Of course I'm not talking about Jakk.  The title refers to his archenemy, Frankie.

You may remember him from my post on Doggy Sibling Rivalry.  That's the piece in which I tell how Frankie propelled himself off a chair to squash Jakk who was walking on the floor below.

Anyway, Frankie's mission to get Jakk remains intact.  Earlier this year, he came charging down the stairs to greet me, and in the chaos/euphoria, Jakk, in true dog-pack style, went charging right behind him.  The only problem is Jakk has arthritis and can't navigate stairs well anymore.  So he just went thumping down all 16 of the stairs since the legs on a Puddin' Jack Russell don't bend very much.  I wasn't too happy with Frankie.

But, this post isn't about Frankie's misdeeds.  There are plenty of them. Instead, this post is about the Big Bad Frankie, and his lesser known side. Indeed, in true small dog fashion, Frankie will bark at any dog, large or small, that he sees.  I remember one instance in which I decided to take him for a long walk.  About 3 blocks from my house, I saw a woman who keeps a lovely garden of Irises.  So I smiled at her as we approached her.  Within a few feet, I saw the look of terror on her face, but not before Frankie saw her two 80 pound each pit bulls behind a gate, and yes, you guessed it, started to bark.

I can only imagine what the 2 mammoth dogs must have been thinking:  "Hell no, you didn't just bark at us you little dog!"  Whereupon, they just lunged their 160 pounds through the gate and came barrelling down the street.  I instinctively yanked Frankie up by his harness, turned my back on the death duo flyng down the street and put Frankie on top of a car.  Just knew I was going to die.

Within moments, the woman's husband came running out of the house to get the dogs.  At the same time, the owner of the vintage (albeit, raggedy) car starts screaming about his car.  Once the 2 maniac dogs were back in their owners' control, I apologized to the car owner while in my mind calling him an idiot, and Frankie and I made our way up the block (without any more barking) where I collapsed into a chair at the pharmacy.  Frankie was none the worse off.

Then there was the time, early in the morning, I took Jakk and Frankie out for their walk.  This woman engaged in a conversation on her cellphone while precariously holding the leash of her giant German Short-haired Pointer came walking towards me (a definite no-no in my neighborhood - but, she was new to the neighborhood).  True to his little dog breed, big mouth Frankie barked, and all bets were off. The larger dog yanked on the leash, and his inattentive owner dropped the leash and the dog came flying down the block.  Frankie lunged at its neck and in the mayhem, one of them wrapped the leash around my legs and I ended up on the ground, Bam! Jakk, who's the smarter of the two dogs, just went off and sat down and didn't move.  He must have been thinking "If I don't move, maybe they won't see me."  So the stupid woman comes running down the block to save her dog from getting its doggy butt whipped by a small dog.  Offers to help me up.  It took everything I had not to curse her out, but I just told her to take her dog and leave.  A good Samaritan who saw me sitting on the ground, helped me up, and, without finishing the walk, I limped back to my house.  I limped for a few weeks longer, because I ended up with a torn ligament.  But, Frankie was none the worse off.

By now you must be thinking Frankie is not a Woose.  But wait!  Let it be after sundown and he turns into a different dog.  Trying to take him out after sundown is a battle.  He'll see me with his leash and run the other way, jump on the bed and roll onto his back, run under his Arch Angel's legs for protection. It's like he starts singing Jennifer Holiday's "And I am telling you I'm not going..." (Frankie's point starts at 3 min 12 seconds of the video below)

The song continues as I lift his 40-50 pounds up and cart him down the street.  That's why he is a woose! Invariably, some unkind neighbor finds it convenient to light up a fire cracker, and again, all bets are off.  Those are usually the shortest walks, with me being the only one walking.

Bye for now,
Brenda J. Christie

Primo Donna O Mio

by Brenda J. Christie

We suspect Jakk may have dementia.  After all, it would be hard to think he does what he does deliberately.  Or could he?  You be the judge.

• Jakk will walk into corners and then seemingly, loose the ability to back-track to get out.  Instead, he will whine until someone rescues him.  Once out of harms way, he will make his way, somewhat like a compass, back to that same corner and repeat the whole thing over, and over and over.

• Jakk does not respect traffic signs.  The very last time I let him walk across the street, he found the yellow line and decided it was the perfect place for his constitutional.  The only problem, is that I live on a very busy, two-way avenue.  So I was forced to scoop him up, mid-constitutional, to avoid getting run over.

• After 16 years, Jakk has finally discovered the space under the bed.  On my first day of vacation (read sleep in, sleep late), Jakk, arthritis and all, managed to wedge himself under the bed, requiring both the mattress and box spring to be removed in order to free him.  This happened before my first cup of coffee, so I was not a happy camper, on top of not sleeping in. Once the box spring was removed, Jakk looked up at me with those doe eyes as if to say, "Miss me?"

Tell me your take on things by answering the "Is Jakk For Real Poll" above.

A Little Retribution, A Little Dedication

by Brenda J. Christie

Jakk reminds me of a Paul Verlaine poem, "Mon Reve Familier."  I never know what or who he will be from day to day.

Je fais souvent ce rêve étrange et pénétrant D'une femme inconnue, et que j'aime, et qui m'aime Et qui n'est, chaque fois, ni tout à fait la même Ni tout à fait une autre, et m'aime et me comprend. Car elle me comprend, et mon coeur, transparent Pour elle seule, hélas ! cesse d'être un problème Pour elle seule, et les moiteurs de mon front blême, Elle seule les sait rafraîchir, en pleurant. Est-elle brune, blonde ou rousse ? - Je l'ignore. Son nom ? Je me souviens qu'il est doux et sonore Comme ceux des aimés que la Vie exila. Son regard est pareil au regard des statues, Et, pour sa voix, lointaine, et calme, et grave, elle a L'inflexion des voix chères qui se sont tues.

He recently lost one of his companions, Xena the Warrior Cat.  She was 20 years old, and until she got sick, was very active.  She, like Jakk, would not back down.  I can't say that she won any battles with him, but she was stiff competition.  Not a whoos like Frankie.  She would wait for Frankie and as he tried to sneak by, ears back, tail down, she would extend the claw and swat him.

I remember taking Frankie to the yard and coming back upstairs and much later realizing he hadn't come up.  Realizing he was still downstairs, I went down to find him like petrified rock - frozen in front of Xena.  She wouldn't let him cross through the door to come up.  They had quite different relationships with one cat.  Bully to one, coward to the other.

So when she passed, Jakk got angry at me and refused to go to sleep.  He also developed this habit of walking into corners and not knowing how he got there or how to get out.  So when this happened, he would start whining for help.  This usually happened in the middle of the night.  I remember hearing him whining through my sleep.  I went to find him and he wasn't in his usual corners (behind the bathroom door, wedged between the night stand and the wall,in the living room stuck behind a plant stand).  I even looked under the bed.

At 2 o'clock in the morning I had all the lights on in the house looking for this dog.  And I couldn't find him.  And of course, he stopped whining.  Finally, he materialized out of thin air and just sat there as if to say "looking for me?"

This went on for a few days until I finally called his vet, who recommended dementia medicine (a no-no) or melatonin.  Did I rush out to buy the melatonin?  In the words of Sara Palin, "You betcha."
And I finally got some sleep.

He still looks for her, just not in the middle of the night.  But he will go into the far reaches of the yard under thorny shrubs and seek her out.  And expect me to rescue him.  And I do, because that's what friendship is all about.

I Created a Prima Dona

by Brenda J. Christie

Prince Jakk

I'm sure a lot of parents can associate with that statement - "I Created A Prima Dona."  This is the child that gets in the middle of a supermarket or better yet, at the check out counter and screams as if someone is killing it.  Or, the child that gets in a crowded subway car and has a temper tantrum.  It's always the parent's fault.  And yes, if you created the Prima Dona, it is your fault.

Jakk, my 15 year old Parsons' Jakk Russell, is a Prima Dona, and I am his creator.  At 12 pounds, he really can't afford not to eat, but every meal is a battle.  Usually one which he just walks away from choosing to lay guilt at my feet.  The battle usually ends, half an hour later, when I give him left over barbecued ribs, or some chicken he hasn't tried yet (anyone say "Chicken Piccata)"  Or fish, or meatloaf, mash potatoes, rice with gravy.  I think you get the picture.

My dogs get fed twice a day, morning and evening.  One morning, Jakk was particularly difficult.  I made him 3 different dishes: (1) one flavor of his grain-free holistic canned dog food; (2) a different flavor of his grain-free holistic canned dog food and (3) a sunny-side up egg over his grain-free holistic dry food.  Prima Dona would have none of it.  I finally gave up and went to work.

Then there is the matter of getting his paws wet.  It seems like Jakk Russells have a particular obsession with their paws. First of all you can't touch them.  Second of all, their paws can't touch the ground, at least not Jakk's.  So, acknowledging this peculiarity, I went in pursuit of doggy boots.  The first pair was too small: the second larger pair he didn't like, the third pair of a different style, I only got 1 paw into 1 boot.  So I ordered a pair of boots from Alaska from the company that makes boots for the dogs that run in the Iditarod.  I thought if I told Jakk he was wearing "Big Dog" boots (yes, he has a Napoleon Complex) and that these $45 boots were special, he would wear them.  And it worked, somewhat.

We got out of the house, walked in the snow, and then he fell over sideways into the snow.  And just laid there, freezing.  That's when I got to understand, from his perspective, that my responsibilities were not limited to preparing something he would eat, taking him to the vet when he felt like it, protecting him from Frankie, his wanna be killer, but it was also my responsibility to carry him to a spot outside where he would relieve himself, and then carry him around so he could take in the fresh air and carry him home.  And if I didn't like carrying him, then we should take the car somewhere where he could relieve himself, carry him around so he could take in the fresh air and then drive him home.

I have to believe Jakk was an Egyptian Prince or Princess in another life -- the kind that rode around in a carrying-chair, used to being carried and used to having slaves.

Such is the Prima Dona I created.

Tell us your story.  What Prima Dona did you create?  While you think about it, Jakk is at the top of the stairs calling me to put him to bed, another of my responsibilities...

Jakk's Christmas Wish List

by Brenda J. Christmas

Jakk's Christmas Wish List included this multi-use tool.

Maybe next year...