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Kiki had never been a very patient character. She was a typical Jack Russell, full of go, full of life .... full of herself! As an only dog she had ruled the roost for seven years until I got Merlin. Then she had ruled him too! The old saying about it not being 'the size of the dog but the size of the dog inside' certainly applied to Kiki. She was a very attractive little bitch, she looked so cute and simply oozed character and she was my Father's pride and joy because with Kiki we had won prizes at shows.
It had been my intention to have a go at showing Merlin, who, despite not having 100% perfect paws (they were 99.99999999% perfect) was a very handsome dog. But as he began to mature I realised he wouldn't enjoy the show ring and so I shelved the idea, much to father's disappointment. So, as a 'one-off' consolation for Dad I decided to take Kiki along to a local Countryside Show and enter her in a few novelty classes. I thought that would cure Father of his itch to enter the show ring. When Kiki came third in the Veterans class (the only class she entered) it only served to whet the old man's appetite. So we had embarked Kiki on a new career as a show dog. This was back in 1978, long before the Jack Russell Terrier was recognised by the Kennel Club, so she was only eligible to enter Novelty Classes. These classes were 'fun classes' with themes like: Happiest Dog, Dog The Judge Would Like to Take Home, Scruffiest Dog, Best Veteran (over 7 yrs) etc. etc.. They were designed for pet dogs and their owners to have fun.
Having fun was often far from what happened. Open to all, these classes also attracted breeders wishing to give their young dogs show ring experience or for their children to gain ring-craft experience by handling older, show experienced dogs. There could be, and often was, a deal of 'cattiness'. After the first couple of shows any ambition I might have entertained to amass a collection of rosettes quickly vanished, along with Kiki's patience. Unfortunately father's hunger for fame had been well and truly fueled and as we went to show after show, and Kiki won class after class, he became ever more enthusiastic. Despite her attitude she won Happiest Dog, Best Veteran, Judge's Favorite ... and, the one I admit to being quite proud of, The Best Conditioned Dog In Show where she beat thirty-six other dogs, pedigrees included, to take the first place ... and despite biting the Judge when she politely asked my grumpy Jack if she could look at her teeth!
Kiki's illustrious show career ended when she was twelve. She much preferred the quiet home life where she was boss.
Losing Merlin hit her hard, she was fourteen and just beginning to show her years; losing the Big Guy aged her still more. She became depressed and moody and clung to my father, then retired and himself in failing health. I would come home from work to find them mirror images of misery. So adding Sollee to the mix maybe wasn't my brightest idea.
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Father took one look at the pup and grunted,
"You can take that back where you got it from!"
I pretended not to have heard and dragged Merlin's old puppy collar and lead out of retirement. They collar fitted Sollee and attaching the lead I took him out for his first lesson ... how to wear a collar and walk on a lead!
It went surprisingly well. After a little initial fighting and pulling against the lead he diverted his attentions to Barlow, our bantam cockerel. Barlow wasn't in the least interested in Sollee and strutted off to join his harem scratching in the veg plot. Being ignored was the ultimate insult and Sollee leapt in pursuit of the provocatively feathered rear only to be halted mid-stride by the lead. He performed a rather undignified somersault and yipped in surprise. I think that was the moment that war was declared between Sollee and Barlow.
With much reassurance and encouragement I persuaded Sollee to walk around the back lawn without too much trouble, he was, after all a green pup in strange surroundings. Any dog on their first visit to a wood is bound to be excited and distracted, and I live in a wood, so I was quite happy with the way he behaved and I began to nurture big ideas about his training possibilities.
The first meeting between Sollee and Kiki set the seal on their future relationship. All bounce and no brains, Sollee pounced on the little Jack and with one swift nip she put an end to any further liberty taking. Sollee retired behind the sofa with a paw he swore was hanging on by a thread! Having put the upstart in his place, Kiki proceeded to ignore him and henceforth Sollee behaved more respectfully, learning to read her moods and giving the matron a wide berth when she slyly lifted a lip. Respect became the corner stone of their friendship, and a friendship did grow. But that lay some little way in the future and there was a whole heap of more pressing issues to deal with first.
At this time I was working seven-thirty to six in the evening at a local garage and the first problem was what to do with the pup while I was at work. Father was at home of course so Sollee wouldn't be alone, but I knew that, until Sollee had won him over, Dad wasn't going to be too happy about pup-sitting. After some thought I felt I had it all sussed out. I would make up Sollee's mid-day feed and make him up a bed in the bathroom so father didn't have to worry about feeds and, if he wanted some peace he could always settle the pup in there. I set off to work the next morning not without some trepidation. I wondered what I would find when I got home in the evening, if Kiki would have slaughtered the daft youngster ... but I also wondered just how much poo I would have to clean up before supper time.
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I'm sure I broke the speed limit most of the way home that first evening. I was a bag of nerves wondering what awaited me. Opening the door I was greeted by a soggy, tatty, raggedy roll of newspaper in the mouth of a shiny eyed pup who was clearly quite happy with the mess he was making by shredding the paper into a million bits across the kitchen floor. It was obvious father had taken enough interest in the newcomer to provide him with a toy. I tried to gauge my father's feelings as I asked how Sollee had been. I was surprised to hear something akin to affection in his tone,
"He's not a bad dog really, he's quite clever in his own way. Kiki's been keepin' an eye on him but he's kept out of her way. An' when I took him out old Barlow didn't seem to think much to him. Oh, an' he's made a bit of a mess in the bath room."
Made a mess in the bathroom.... had he ever! I'd expected a few heaps of poo and some puddles but not quite what I found. He had been very clean toilet-wise, no poo, no pee ... but he had been very, very busy.
That pup was a one animal wrecking crew!
The bathroom carpet was in shreds, and amongst the debris I saw scraps of my favourite bath-towel. But he hadn't stopped there. The bathroom door was virtually stripped of paint to a height of three feet. I asked father how long he been left in there...
"Twenty minutes, while I had my lunch! I wouldn't put him in there again if was you. He didn't like it, he prefers being with me and Kiki!"
That was one piece of parental advice I took without question; Solllee only ever spent twenty minutes in the bathroom....! The next day and every day thereafter he stayed with father and Kiki. I don't know what the three of them got up to but they all seemed content. And father was right, he was a clever pup, eager to please and quick to learn, he took no training at all.
