Jack Russell Story

Courtesy of shortysmom@msn.com

From: Drucilla M. Henderson

My Jack Russell Story:

Back last summer, (august 1996), my husband, one fine Sunday morning, completely lost his mind, and said to me, "Let's buy a Jack Russell Terrier Puppy." Since we both work full time, have three other dogs already, and have a small house, I thought this was totally insane, but on being assured that we'd probably be only looking, I agreed to go along. We found a breeder on a farm just over the county line, so we drove out there. The place was positively BOILING with Jack Russell Terriers, and cats and sundry other dogs and creatures. Six out of the seven puppies they had were personality plus, climbing all over us, playing tug-of -war with our shoe laces etc. The seventh spent all her time hiding under whatever she could find to hide under, and she had two big sore patches on her back just under the shoulderblades, where she had scratched herself raw. The breeder confided that she was considering having that one put down, as it had a timid disposition, was the runt of the litter, and nobody would want to buy it because of the sores. That was enough for Tom and me. We promptly offered the woman half what she was asking, then grabbed our papers, vaccination certifications, and our new puppy and headed home. When she got to our house, and met our two indoor dogs, an elderly and rather staid Basenji, and an equally elderly and staid Miniature Poodle, she looked around and you could see it visibly pass through her mind, "Why I can handle this, just fine." Once away from and environment of fifteen other dogs, a dozen (at least) cats and Lord-knows-what-all, she forgot all about being a shrinking violet, and realized she was a JACK RUSSELL TERRIER, and she promptly took over. She has insisted since the first night, on sleeping with me, and I haven't needed an alarm clock, either. She knows what time, I get up, and she wakes me by standing on my torso, and smooching whatever part of my face she can reach. If I bury my head under the blankets, she'll go to the foot of the bed and attack my toes. Needless to say, both Tom and I are totally besotted with her, but Tom gets a little miffed, because if I'm around, he barely exists for her. But I'm MOM. Whether I'm gone for work, or if I just step out for a five minute errand, I'm greeted on my return with an hysterical display of joy, and a thorough smooching. When I'm at home, she's rarely more than a couple of feet from me. She likes to sit in my lap while I surf the net, and she even lies right outside the bathroom while I take my shower. (She's banned from the bathrooms due to the number of rolls of toilet tissue she has reduced to confetti) This kind of total uncritical devotion is very good for the ego. When I'm feeling down or when my boss or my husband are too demanding or critical, I know that Shorty thinks I'm the greatest thing since Squeaky toys, and a good smooch and cuddle, can set the world straight for me again.

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