Didn’t someone once say, “It takes a village to raise a terrier?”
Most people would think that owning just two dogs would seem like nothing after having a kennel of 60-some sled dogs. But if one of those dogs happens to be a terrier, it’s a whole different ball game. Terriers aren’t stuck with the infamous nickname “tiny terrorists” because of their angelic behavior.
Even though Jigs, my German Jagd Terrier, is no saint, I’m crazy about him. He’s my bedwarmer, my little man. And he’s just so darn cute.
Jigs weighs in at about 25 lbs. I never really thought much about the differences between small and large dogs until he entered my life. But there is one big difference that continues to cause me grief; pint-sized pooches can go many places that strapping canines can’t. Jigs makes it a habit of disappearing underground, pressing and wedging his body into holes that seem impossibly cramped.
I’m embarrassed to say that on more than one occasion I’ve spent up to an hour yelling, “come Jigs, come” only to later find that he was underground, rooting around in a gopher tunnel directly below me. I worry that someday he’ll get stuck down under and I won’t be able to find him.
Jigs’ stunted stature isn’t the only obstacle to knowing his whereabouts. The Jagd breed has a strong hunting instinct; they are bred to hunt bear, wild boar, coyotes, and underground varmints. When Jigs is loose, he’s always in hot pursuit of something. And his black and tan coat makes it difficult to locate him in a dark forest.
Over the years I’ve gotten smarter about keeping track of my mini hunting hound. Nowadays, it takes me minutes to dress Jigs before he’s allowed to leave the house.
In the beginning, I just put a blaze orange collar on him to help me spot him in the field.
My next purchase was a tiny copper bell that I attached to his collar. That particular bell worked just fine above ground, but once there was a few feet of dirt between my ears and Jig’s jangle, it was inaudible.
Then I tried a small cowbell. The first day he wore the obnoxious clanker, Jigs went on a sit down strike and almost refused to go hiking with me - until he saw a squirrel scurry up a nearby tree. When Jigs is running all out, the violent, clattering percussion makes people do a double take, looking for a mad cow on the fly. So far, he’s gone through three cowbells; one completely disappeared and the other two lost their ringers. Overall, the cow bell is effective for helping me unearth my canine spelunker.
And most recently along with his other accouterments, Jigs has been sporting an orange hunting vest with reflective tape which makes him easier to spot on the side of a mountain or in the dark.
Such a small dog, such a big wardrobe.
Last week one day after lunch when I was walking the dogs, Jigs disappeared. I kept hiking and calling his name, not thinking much about the usual vanishing act.
Hours passed. No Jigs.
I spent hours hiking the mountains around my home, whistling and calling his name over and over again. I kept returning to my house to make sure he wasn’t trotting around the property looking for me.
I live out in the mountains but I do have close neighbors. They saw me coming and going and asked if there was a problem. Jigs is missing, I said. They offered to watch my house and let him inside if he returned on his own. I took my cell phone so they could call me.
Eventually, it got dark. I wasn’t too worried until day turned to night and the temperature dropped. What if Jigs got his vest hung up in a hole somewhere? What if he was trapped? What if he was lost? What if...
Other neighbors joined in the search. A friend and her children walked the gravel road, calling, “Jigs! Jigs!” Her husband drove the forest service roads, hoping to catch a glimpse of his orange outfit in the headlights.
Then I started running into hunters coming back to their camps for the evening. They joined in the search.
Wearing my headlamp, I continued to trek the hillsides in the dark, yelling for my little man. By that time, I was really worried.
And then my cell phone rang.
“Jigs has returned!” my neighbor told me. “I let him in the house for you...”
It took me a half hour to hike back to my car and drive home. When I got there, Jigs was sound asleep on his chair in front of the woodstove. He still wore his collar and cow bell but his orange vest was missing - maybe he really was stuck down in a hole somewhere.
Such a little dog, such big trouble.
It might not take a village to raise a terrier, but it sure takes a village to find one.
 |
 |