Bud has a mission these days. I’m reminded that he is a working dog, bred to hunt rats and mice and chipmunks.
He takes it seriously and has found some serious work to do.
Some time ago, he saw a chipmunk run down this tree and into a hole underneath Maria’s studio.
He sits out there for hours now, silent and waiting for the chipmunk to return, a dog with a mission.
It is great to see Bud continue to grow and find his place in the world. For all practical purposes, Bud has only been in the world for a year or so.
He spent the first two years of his life in an uncovered metal pen in Southern Arkansas, his pen mates all died of exposure, and he very nearly did also.
A rescue group brought him from his owner and nursed him back to health.
He is not the same dog he was when he got to us. He is affectionate, confident, and just as much of a working dog as fate.
Zinnia loves to go out back and keep Bud company.
The two of them sit and stare together – I’m not sure Zinnia knows what she is doing out there – and when Zinnia gets bored, she wanders the yard looks for revolting things to eat. I go visit out back there every morning, to say hello.
When I call the dogs in to feed them, Zinnia comes running. Bud doesn’t even hear me, I have to shout two or three times and he always comes running for food.
He is always eager to go outside, even in the heat. I think the chipmunk is long gone, they are no fools, and I’m sure they have noticed this determined little dog, out on his mission.
I so love terriers. Or terrier-ists, as an obedience instructor called my first puppy. They’re full of amazing contradictions: so intense and focused on one hand, and so completely distractable on the other. Always so joyful, so loving and affectionate. Everything is fun, everything is a game. I’ve never lasted more than three weeks without one of these dogs.
I just spent a good half hour rescuing a ground hog from my terrier-ist. Somehow the ground hog got into our fenced back yard and the circus was on. I know ground hogs are fierce fighters when cornered and I didn’t want the dog to get bitten. I opened one gate and scooched him out with a big broom into the woods. He’s now sitting high on a fallen tree trunk sneering at the dog. Never a dull moment. Love to hear your stories.
Our currentJack Russell is getting on in years now (he’s maybe 14), but we hunted him in the alleys of DC for about six years, nightly. He killed over 3000 rats in that period, and loved every single moment of it. What is noticeable is that he seemEd to have a built-in gps, every spot that he flushed a rat I’d engraved in his brain, and had to be rechecked every time we went down that particular alley. It’s like a fish finder, except for rats…