Good Karma...Bad Karma!

I was sitting in my swing this morning while Karma was rolling around and chomping on a corn cob when I realized she will be 14 years old in a few weeks.  Like the rest of the Jack Russell pack, she appeared one day without warning (OK a couple of the others I had a tiny bit of warning.)  Mark firmly believed in the "it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission" way of life.  When he brought Karma home though, it was "She'll only be here a few days until we can find the right spot for her.  She's extremely valuable and everyone is trying to get something from this litter..."  That was nearly 14 years ago, but who's counting????  Me.

"Karma"

Everybody that shows dogs winds up with at least one Karma.  She's the one you keep for lack of a good enough reason to place her.  She is a bit of a clown and you can't stay mad at her even though you really want to.  She doesn't hold grudges either as that would require thought and she doesn't spend much time thinking.  Well, come to think of it, we did have several reasons she stayed--she couldn't live with cats or any other housepet you wanted to live another day; though a  JRTCA Bronze Medallion dog who liked to hunt, she wasn't that good at it and her chest blew too big to be able to get in holes (also ending conformation successes); she has horrible sun and grass allergies (perfect for a working dog...) and once spayed she had no breeding value to anyone else.  Which was fine.

She acts the same as she did as a puppy, without a doubt the most athletic dog I've ever lived with.  She can jump on a grooming table flat footed.  She still runs, but in no particular direction because she can't see anything but shadows.  She's happy that way and at this point why put her through cataract surgery?  Seeing for her wouldn't change a thing.   She sleeps 23 hours a day anyway.

Audra and Karma with one of their many blue ribbons!

Her only real asset (besides being one giant muscle) is that she was the best "show pony" you could ask for.  You could stick a toddler on the end of the lead and she would show like a million bucks.   We know, because we did.  She really wants to please people.  A credible theory in this house is that if you want a great show dog, they have to be dumb.  They are always "happy, happy, happy" and wagging their tails.  We had several super smart dogs that hated showing because they saw no point in it.  Her other asset is she very clean and if you let her out enough, you don't have to clean up her pen.  Often, that is my incentive for getting up in the morning!

Now for the "Bad Karma." Although she doesn't get the title of "dumbest dog ever" because that went to her full sister Credit (who we did manage to part with!) she runs totally on adrenaline.  I once figured out through all the terrier fights over the years we always blamed the other bitch and got rid of them.  She was involved with the barn cat killing and was a perpetual "me too" dog when they took off or whatever.  For a funny story, see "A Hunting We Will Go" listed in the index.

I remember someone coming over to look at her several month old puppies and wanting to see her. While normally decently behaved in the house, she proceeds to grab a pillow off the sofa and destroy it right in front of us.  That went over well...

Over the years she has developed a tolerance for my toy dogs.  Carrie thinks it's fun to bounce off her and I am always amazed at the restraint Karma shows.  Of course, I never leave them loose together!  She was a good mother and an easy whelper!  We loaned her to her breeder for a litter (who is a vet) and unbeknownst to her and her hubby, Karma was whelping while chasing tennis balls.  She would get the tennis ball, run to the whelping box, spit out puppy (but I doubt the ball,) hid the pup under newspapers and then took the ball back for another run.  She had two puppies before they realized what was happening!  Karm was staying at another friend's house and went briefly missing.  She was found with her head sticking up through some perfectly manicured bushes she appeared to be sitting in.  Inexplicable how she got there...

So for better or worse, Karma is here to stay and likely for a long time.  So Happy Birthday Karm!

Until next time,

Gale

"The Tuck" Meets His Everlasting... His Way

Author's Note:
Please understand that though we are dog lovers, "Tucker" would want me to tell the truth about him.  He was a royal-pain-in-the-*** his entire life and he didn't care.  He was always looking for adventure.  It was all about him and we were his servants. ---GW-T

Corn Row Tucker of Darby Creek

1997-2011

I really don't want everyone to think I am a "kennel-blind" snob.  I have had average dogs, dumb dogs, smart dogs, mixed breeds and pure-breds.  Between owning, showing, handling, training, boarding and grooming I have come in contact with hundreds of dogs;  many nice ones, one aforementioned (in a previous post) crazy one (well, there have been a few nut cases), but only a few great ones.  Please note that the "great" ones aren't necessarily the best pets...

Trust us...

Multi-JRTCA Working Terrier Champion and Bronze Medallion hunter Corn Row Tucker was the son of another great Jack Russell terrier named Corn Row Tyler owned/bred by Pam Simmons in KY.  Tyler won pretty much everything (including the national) in the JRTCA trials, then Pam moved over to the AKC and Tyler won Best of Breed at their first national specialty and the breed's debut at Westminster Kennel Club.  Aside from correct conformation, Tyler and Tucker also were known nationally as "smart."  We actually got calls from all around No. America asking if it was true.  (We didn't realize until later that this isn't necessarily a breed trait.)

"Tucker" displaying his lovely front and tight feet, as well as his masculine head.

Yes, often unfortunately, Tucker was smart.  He was also a very proud dog.  He was arrogant to the end.  He took advantage of every opportunity to escape or get into something.  Our whole family spent 24/7 for 14 years keeping him alive.  If you didn't out-think him, the results were immediate.  He never quit his desire to take off, though crippled from a series of strokes, deaf and blind, he died doing just that.  This is as it should have been because were debating how much longer we should keep him going.  There were some days when I was sure we would have to make the decision, then he would do better.  Mark was out of town working a lot and he needed to be here when that decision was made, so I just did would I could.  We are very grateful our neighbors found him, so he could be buried at home.

But he was no picnic to live with most of his life:

In order to maintain him, his pen door had to have a snap.  We had four-board fence with diamond mesh lining and electric horse fence around the top.  Gates needed double and triple checked.  We had to lock all the doors in the house if he was loose "visiting" and watching TV.  If he found a lapse in our security, off he went and you could follow screaming at him to come back and maybe he would acknowledge you by throwing his head over his shoulder to smirk as he kept on running.  One time (and only once) I allowed him to hang out in the cool garage with a window slightly open.  Of course, he figured out a path to climb, shoved the window up more, jumped into the bushes and took off.

"Tucker" doing what he loved

Mark loved to hunt and became a working terrier field judge.  But once Tucker got his Bronze, Mark was not too thrilled about taking him out.  The dog was an amazing hunter, but turning him loose meant you'd better keep up as Tuck would "wind" quarry and was off to the races, with briars, etc. not slowing him down.  It was pointless to call him as he never did come when called unless in a fence and wanting dinner.

Then one day we noticed him not barking and he tripped walking into our garage.  So, we raced him to the vet.  A 1 1/2 year old dog in prime condition was getting weaker by the hour.  Nobody knew what was wrong with him, especially the local vets who decided it was Lyme disease.  The meds weren't working though.  So, Mark started calling all around the country as it looked like we were going to lose him.  From top-notch university vets he got little help, but then someone mentioned a case about a coon dog and Mark started calling every good 'ol boy he could find.

The "good" news was Mark figured out what was wrong.  It was called "Coonhound Paralysis."  It is caused by swapping spit with an infected raccoon and getting some kind of microscopic worm.  It takes two weeks for the animal to look/act ill.  Exactly two weeks earlier, Tucker got into it with some coons.  He won the battle, but apparently not the war.  Nobody around here had ever heard of it and Tucker wasn't getting the right help.  Mark took him to Ohio State's Vet Clinic at midnight, where they had a respirator and 24 hour supervision available.  Apparently, the dog can get so weak they can't breathe.   The only "antidote" is to worm them hard after raccoon exposure, but it was a moot point by the time we found out.  This mega-scary (and mega-buck) adventure was just beginning.

Tucker went from bad to worse and was completely paralyzed, but he wound up not needing the respirator.  Apparently, it always gets bad before it gets better (and often they died) and we were told by the coon hunters we would have to wait it out as there wasn't a cure other then physical therapy and the physical/mental strength of the dog.  The neurologist who decided it was more important to go out to dinner and a movie, finally made it in to the clinic the next day.  He didn't believe Mark and without our knowledge, he performed exploratory surgery.  Besides a huge bill, the only other thing we got out of it was "yep, he's paralyzed."  Really?  He needed to operate to tell us that?

Mark was fit to be tied and said he was on his way to get him.  They said no.  Since Tuck had stabilized without the respirator there wasn't really any reason for him to stay.  From there on out it would be hand feeding and carrying him out to potty (Tucker was a clean dog and peeing the bed would mortify him.  He only pooped if Mark could find a bush while we were traveling. )  The vet folks argued, but Mark brought him home.

As handsome as he was, we only have a few good photos of him.  This was taken by a friend.

The "experts" said he would likely at least limp for the rest of his life.  But Mark was determined not to let that happen, especially on such a young, strong dog.  So, we took turns every two hours flipping him on the egg crate mattress, spoon feeding him and putting him on his back to work his joints.  In a few days he was standing on his own, but didn't walk for awhile.  It took a month before he was acting half-way normal.  He never did limp.

A few months later, Tucker started winning conformation trials, siring litters and acting 90% of his old self.  He never really got back his speed, though he could still out-run you and most dogs.  He couldn't stand to be cold and now and then he would get mopey and we would worry that it would come back.  He lived nearly 14 years, but I still think a lot of his health problems at the end were associated with that paralysis.

"Tuck" winning one of many Working Terrier Championships, even after contracting Coonhound Paralysis.

But we had many good years.  Folks used to call and thank us for not showing up at trials with him.  (Mark had to work for a living!)  Though Tucker hated to show--you could tell he thought it was dumb--some days he decided to humor us and pulled it together.   (He did like the "star" treatment!)  If it didn't involve hunting or girls, he really didn't care.  He had quite a following though.  The British judges loved his big head and narrow chest.  He never did "blow up" in the chest and was narrow and flexible all of his life.  He could fold nose to tail which is good when you are working underground and need to get out quickly.

Tucker was very controlling and relentless.  He hated all other male dogs.  Like most jack russells, he was racist.  They don't like dogs "of color."  If you weren't like them, you were their enemy.  Cats also generally have a limited life span around them.  He could catch wild birds.

He had several levels of barking:
"bark" delay "bark" delay "bark bark" meant dinner time.  He ate at 4:30 p.m. and would start in about 4:15.  He wouldn't stop if it took all night until he got fed.  He never said much at breakfast unless we were really late.  Whining, shrill barks were for hunting.  Howling barks were saved for the middle of the night when we had a bitch in season around.  It would drive you to drink until you put him in a crate next to our bed and shook it.  Then, he had the regular bark for when someone pulled up to the house.

He destroyed every toy he ever had.  We went through several Kung Fu bears that would say HI-YA! if it was squeezed.  He came unglued over that toy.  Mark bought him a so-called "indestructible" toy perfect for jack russells.  He returned the pieces to the vendor in less than 15 minutes.  They asked if he wanted a replacement and he said "What for?"

"Tucker" in winter coat with his umpteenth Kung Fu bear.

I'm sure there are many more stories I've forgotten to include.  He was a character to say the least.  Though he is gone, he will not be forgotten.  If any of you have stories about him to share, please post them in the comments.  We would love to hear them!

Until next time,

Gale

Oh Wacky Day! The Good, The Bad and The Sad--Rest in Peace Corn Row Tucker (1997-2011)

If one didn't know that we are basically a normal family running a normal household, you would surely think we were dysfunctional.  I don't know if I've always lived with this much drama or if blogging just makes me focus on it.  Could it be that greater powers just want me to have something interesting to write about?

This adventure is once again about a disappearing dog.  This is I hope the end of a really bad streak.  We are competent folks who keep dogs fenced, penned or under lock and key.  But "s--t happens" and it seems to happen here.  The folks who follow or at least look this blog up often were told this would be a humor column.  I promise to get back to that ASAP.

Thursday, October 7th was a nice, uneventful sunny day here in The Buckeye State.  That evening I decided to put the chickens away before my yoga class because it's hard to find them in the dark.  I was in the usual hurry which causes most of life's disasters.  Apparently, I either didn't shut the gate all the way or more likely I didn't get the snap in good enough (the gates have started sagging.)  Right after class I put out Tucker and Karma (13 year old nut case Jack Russell) and left to pick up Taylor from the Homecoming Parade.

When we returned a half hour later it was pitch black.  I saw Karma standing at the front gate and decided to put them away as Tuck hates being outside since his series of strokes and illnesses.  I hollered for him (stupid because he's 90% deaf and nearly that blind.) and no Tuck.  So, I walk around the yard thinking he was "stuck" somewhere.  He couldn't back up and would walk into corners and stand.  When I saw the side gate cracked open, my stomach sank.  Not again!!!!

The one thing about Tucker was his predictability.  He escaped at every opportunity, but we were usually on his heels and he always went across the street to the neighbor's old barns.  (Takes a lot of the guesswork out and saves time, if not aggravation.)  So, I grabbed a lead and went over.  Here I am calling for a deaf/blind dog in the dark.  Mark, of course, was working on the East Coast, but planning on coming home the next day.  There are loads of old groundhog holes and he could hole up and I'd never find him. 

He was limping that day, so he couldn't have gone far.  I walked around a bit without a working flashlight and decided he would probably sleep until daylight.  So, I drove the perfunctory "ditch tour" around the neighborhood and didn't see him anywhere.  I drove to the back of our property and shined the headlights by the pond and fields.  I guess there is a reason Mark and I only have 4 wheel drive vehicles.  While out driving, I reported to that fellow that walks daily there was another missing dog.  He replied, "I'm never gonna let you watch my dogs!"  Ha Ha--he acted like he was kidding, but I doubt it.  I don't run a boarding kennel anyway.

I got up the next morning at the crack of dawn and set out.  I actually put on appropriate clothes for the briers and poison ivy, but my tennis shoes were soaked within a few minutes.  Duh.  I carried around some bread and took Karma (on a lead) to maybe flush him out as he hated her.  I did what Mark said and followed the creek and went through the barns (at least the parts I could reach.)  A couple hours of this and I decided Mark could look when he got home a few hours later.  I did make another drive around the neighborhood and the back of our property, circling the pond again.

I was taking a cold shower :( to ward off any poison ivy) when the phone rang.  I heard Vivian (a friend who also happens to have my rooster James Brown) on the machine.  She said she thought she had my dog at the shelter.  I sort of dried off and called her back.  The most embarrassing words to have to say were "Which one?"  Deja Vu all over again....

She said she was sure it was Ivy.    Now, she had only seen Ivy once a couple months ago and I don't even think she knew she was missing.  Ivy is microchipped, but they skipped all that and looked us up in the phone book.  This has been the only reason to have a land line that I can think of.  I called Mark and took off.

I walk into the exam room and all I saw was her nose and I knew it was her.  Completely pissed off about being in a wall crate, weak, skinny and filthy.  Apparently, someone dropped her off at this guy's place a week before and he had kept her, tried to feed her and give her a bath.  My bet is that the first person also picked her up and was hoping to find reward signs.  (I decided not to do them because everyone within a couple miles knows little white escapee dogs were likely ours and I figured a coyote got her.)  When the reward wasn't forthcoming, then they dumped her as did guy number two who likely thought she would die on him as she was wobbly.

I plopped down a $100 bill and asked it that would cover some Frontline as she wasn't getting in my car without it!  They did and I don't mind a bit making donations to them, but normally I prefer to do it under different circumstances.

The kids and Mark were thrilled.  Once I got her settled, it was time to focus on Tucker.  Mark got home and looked next door and said he was sure he wasn't there.  He would know as he hunted that dog all of  Tucker's life.  I had to leave to take Truly, my Japanese Chin, to her co-owners for a show weekend, so I split. 

As I made a right down my road, the oddest thing happened.  Now, it could be nothing, but still it is freaky.  A solid white bird started to fly alongside me as I drove down the road.  I wouldn't have noticed, but I've never seen an all white wild bird around here.  It flew for maybe 50 yards, then veered off over a field.  But at that moment, I just knew Tucker was dead.  At that exact time Mark saw a whitish thing floating in the pond, but way out in the middle.  There wasn't a rowboat and Mark stared for 15 minutes and decided it must just be debris. 

When I got back Mark had left for the football game and my friend (and pond owner) called saying she had Tucker.  Bless their hearts, they (she and her husband) saw him floating beside their dock and fished him out, bagged him and put him in their barn so varments wouldn't get to him.  That is a real friend.

The next morning we gathered for a moment to remember him.  I will be writing his obit soon, but it's too long to do now.  Mark said he likely didn't suffer long because he was weak and mentally gone.  We were discussing putting him down just days before.  Maybe Tuck heard us.  He was the most independent dog you could imagine and dying on his own is quite fitting.  If you are prone to crying don't scroll to the photo below:

Mark told Ivy it was nice of her to attend...  Until next time, take care! Gale

Multiple Working Terrier Champion, Bronze Medallion Award Winner

Corn Row Tucker of Darby Creek

July 7, 1997- October 7, 2011

The Queen Is Alive---Long Live Queen Ivy!!!!!

I just returned from the Union County Humane Society with Ivy the Wonder Dog!  I will post details later, but she is home after 45 days.  Thanks so much to Vivian at the shelter who only met Ivy once and remembered her, was sure she was Ivy and called right away.  Ivy is skinny, but otherwise okay.


Here is a pic of her ride home---  we must have a big "Sweet 16" party for her in November!