I love my Jack Russell Terrier. She's always happy, never boring, and up for anything. Except when it comes to wearing stupid pet costumes. She hates wearing stupid pet costumes so much, in fact, that I've decided it's a good correction tool for when she misbehaves.
For instance, just this week we went for our evening walk on the hilly, wooded, back side of the golf course. Since there's a leash law in Prescott and since Mimzy is an alpha female and has a bad case of Jack Russell aggressiveness, I always walk her haltered and leashed, ready to pick her up and carry her past other dogs we might meet in order to avoid confrontations (of which there have been many). Mimzy has a nasty habit of waiting until a dog - any dog - comes close enough to smell her. In a lightening flash, she lashes out, nipping them smartly on the nose, leaving dog and owner upset and offended, and leaving me embarrassed and apologetic for having such an unsociable sidekick.
So we were having a nice, uneventful walk, which in my book is a win, and everything was going according to plan. As we rounded the last hilltop and descended the winding course towards home, a small black and white Peek-a-Poo appeared, trotting up the hill towards us. The little dog had no leash and looked to be entirely alone, curious about Mimzy whom he was obviously approaching to make aquaintance. Knowing Mimzy like I do, I decided it best to pick her up and bypass any unnecessary nipping on her part. I scooped Mimzy up tightly under my arm, holding on to her firmly so she wouldn't wriggle free. I shifted my gaze down the path, checking to see if the dog's person was lagging behind. I saw no one. By that time the little black and white dog had reached the spot where I stood clutching Mimzy and looked expectantly up at us. Without any warning, Peek-a-Poo sprang straight up in the air - like a furry basketball - in front of Mimzy. At the exact moment Peek-a-Poo reached eye-level with my dog, Mimzy grabbed Peek by the nose and all hell broke loose. Piercing my Walden-like solitude, a sudden explosion of high-pitched yelping and vicious growling and uncensored hollering ensued. In a knee-jerk reflex, I spun Mimzy away from the little dog, expecting to gain distance between the two. I realized to my dismay that Peek-a-Poo's nose was still firmly attached to Mimzy's tightly clamped teeth and he was spinning with us like some nightmarish doggie carnival ride, screaming in pain.
Time and space vaulted into a surreal, slow-motion vignette, like a horrible ballet in which I clutched Mimzy and Mimzy clamped Peek-a-Poo and we all went round together in a cacophonic spiral until finally Mimzy let go and the little black and white dog went flying off into the brush. Stunned, I had no time to process, because around the bend came a woman in a jogging outfit with an anxious look on her face and a pit bull the size of Babe the Blue Ox, straining at ...thank GOD... his leash. The woman was trying to assess what had just happened. Knowing intuitively it was one of those "You had to have been there" situations, and decidedly more concerned about Mimzy repeating her new trick with a pit bull, I clamped my hand down over my dog's eyes and hurried past the melee, mumbling something about her dog possibly having had a slight nip on the nose. I stole one last embarrassed look over my shoulder at them as they disappeared around the bend, and noted Peek-a-Poo's tail was significantly lower than when we first met.
Mimzy has been sulking around the house for the last two days giving me her best "What's YOUR problem?" look whenever we make eye contact. I have been plotting a wardrobe of stupid pet costumes that will keep her dressed for the next 45 days. . . WITH a muzzle.
$100 / Unframed
6" x 6" / Oil on Museum Quality Canvas Panel
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