This Place Has Really Gone To The Dogs

(The Saga Continues)

About ten years ago my son Austin agreed to come with me to a horse show in Conyers, Georgia. I have always enjoyed the company of my children, but since the show happened to coincide with his sixteenth birthday I also had an ulterior motive for ensuring that Austin was present at this particular event. Now don't misunderstand me, it's not that I'm so sentimental I couldn't endure being apart from my son on his birthday - I just knew that during my absence the biggest kegger in the history of our little town would take place down by the burn barrel if this child stayed at home with his dad.

Unfortunately the oldest heir to the family farm does not possess an unbridled passion for horses and he quickly tired of watching the exhibition of American Saddlebreds or "shaky tails" as they are often referred to by the more reserved hunt seat crowd. There is no shortage of teenage girls at horse shows and during the event Austin attempted to alleviate his boredom by checking out some of the two-legged scenery. There is also no shortage of people trying to sell things at horse shows and as he wandered around the barns on Saturday morning, Austin met a man with a litter of eight week old Jack Russell puppies.

Up to this point I had never really cared for Jack Russell Terriers. Their temperament reminded me of hyperactive children in need of medication, but I obligingly went to see the dogs and found that my son had fallen in love with the least attractive one in the bunch. Short legged, stocky and solid white, except for one brown spot on her head, the puppy he had chosen looked more like an albino Dachshund than a Jack Russell Terrier. Ignoring my negative reaction, the boy continued to visit the dog man who had sold all of the puppies but this one by late afternoon. As the sun was setting my very persuasive child played the sympathy card and ended up with Dottie Russell as a birthday present compliments of the puppy peddler.

The dog slept in our hotel room that night and the next day we set out for home with Dottie snugly tucked in the back seat. When Jasmine, our Dalmatian, saw the spot on top of Dottie's head she assumed a kinship existed and immediately took responsibility for raising the ugly little dogling. The bob tailed compadres were inseparable. They ate together, slept together and played together.

Sadly about a year after Dottie came into our lives, Jasmine left us. This dog may have survived an encounter with a six thousand pound Suburban, but she didn't survive her attempt to chase a five-foot rattlesnake from the back yard. Broken hearted, Dottie and I missed our best friend and I genuinely began to worry about the Jack Russell who stopped eating or playing.

Concluding that Dottie needed a companion, I took her with me to visit potential canine adoptees at the humane society and local animal hospital, but none served as a suitable replacement for Jasmine. Finally, I searched the newspaper and found an ad for a two year old, housebroken, neutered, male Jack Russell named Patch. Making the necessary arrangements, Patch's downtown family brought him out for a visit. Unlike Dottie, he was an exemplary specimen of all things Russell. No dummy, Dottie knew a good thing when she saw it and as soon as Patch was released from his crate the two dogs bounded off together in a blissful frenzy.

Dottie's renewed enthusiasm inspired us to write a check for Patch and Patch's enthusiasm for marking all the rugs in our house inspired us to write many check to the carpet cleaners. Now most people don't get rid of a good dog and we quickly discovered that physically perfect Patch had many flaws. The worst of these was the urge to kill just about anything that hopped, slithered, crawled or walked.

Before we acquired Patch, my husband had become enamored with the idea of having fresh eggs every morning and he amassed a large variety of expensive hens that we kept in the abandoned greenhouse beside our home. Within a week of Patch's arrival the dog discovered the "free range" chickens. Realizing the mesh surrounding their coup was not an impenetrable barrier, the vicious mongrel set out on a chicken massacre that would have put Colonel Sanders to shame. With carcasses littering the yard and feathers still clinging to his mouth, Patch barely escaped this initial killing spree with his own life in tact.

Unable to help himself this dog then attacked and killed the family cat. Fortunately for Patch, no one was intensely horrified by this deed since the cat we called Slash had a propensity for leaving gaping wounds on the flesh of any individual brave enough to try and pet her. Slash was buried in a shallow grave close to the former chicken coup and all bad things were forgotten for a while.

Lulling us into a false sense of security, Patch didn't kill again for many months and harmony seemed to have been restored on the home front. Then, out of the blue the Jack Russell terrorist struck again. This time Ducky Duck was his target and we were forced to add our pet Pekin's name to the growing list of animals loved and lost. Realizing the duck had been mortally wounded, my husband attempted to put him out of his misery with a twelve-gauge shotgun. Intentionally or not, some stray shot struck Patch's rear end in the process. Fearing for his life, the dog ran off into the woods and disappeared.

Perhaps it's true that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Patch was a relentless, wanton killer, but he was just doing what instinct dictated. As the days passed we worried about the little dog's fate and doubted he could survive in the wilds around our house for very long. Amazingly, several weeks later my neighbor found him wandering up her driveway and much to our relief Patch returned home slightly thinner, but unscathed.

Needless to say, we no longer have cats or chickens and the migratory ducks that visit our pond do so at their own risk. We however do still have the little Jack Russell terrorist who wears a bright green collar with a tag that reads "Patch Chicken Killer Page." Having disposed of just about everything else, this dog spends his days chasing mice or lizards at the barn and his nights curled up next to Dottie on the foot of my bed. I guess it just goes to show that all flaws can eventually be forgiven when you are lucky enough to live with a family that loves you.