Elmo told me that Jack looks demonic in this picture.
He’s got a dog biscuit sideways in his mouth, giving him that weird grin. And I have no idea what’s up with his left eye. It’s normally open, but it sets back in his head a little further than the other one. Maybe the socket got fucked up by the same accident that broke his tail and pelvis. Who knows.
I have a love/hate relationship with him.
I love him because he’s just a big ol’ puppy. All he wants from me when I go out is attention. I’ll start scratching his ears and he just melts at my feet, all squirmy and shit. It’s almost like he knows I saved his worthless ass and he has to show his gratitude every time he sees me. It’s hard to not like a dog like that, you know?
I hate him because he’s just a big ol’ puppy. I swear, he’s worse than a Lab the way he always has to be chewing on something – so far he’s got my favorite hat, a shovel handle, a picture frame, the porch table fake flower arrangement, the left rear seat belt in the truck, a half dozen flower pots (with the flowers still in them), a sapling, the porch railing, the lid to the trash can for burnable trash and its contents, an extension cord which was unfortunately unplugged, a corner of the chicken coop, my Kindle cover, and that’s just the shit I can come up with right off the top of my head. Wait – I forgot about the bird house. Evidently the little bastard can climb trees.
I expect some morning I’ll wake up to four flat tires on the truck.
I went out to feed him the other day and saw where he had shredded a coke can. I only found about half that can and have no idea where the rest of it went unless he ate it. He hasn’t been yelping in pain or shitting blood, so I really don’t know.
Him and CharlieGodammit do not get along at all but I can’t put it off on Jack. Charlie’s always gotten along real well with other dogs, but not this one. I can understand it though – Charlie’s the Top Dog, but he’s old and he sees Jack as somebody trying to move in on him. Law of the pack and all that. And with Charlie having a lot of wolf in him, that instinct’s probably pretty strong. Because of that, Jack lives outside while Charlie lays around in an air conditioned house, dreaming about when he was young and could still run and play hard.
Because they don’t get along, I have to go out with Charlie, keeping myself between them until Charlie gets off the porch and I can grab Jack by his harness handle, then I have to sit there with him until Charlie finishes his business and goes back inside.
They’ve fought a couple three times. Nothing major and no injuries to either dog when I’d kick them apart, but it happens any time they get close together.
I gotta hand it to Jack, he’s got heart. He’s not vicious at all, but there’s not one inch of back-up to that dog. Charlie stands 26 inches at the shoulder and weighs a good 130. Jack stands 19 inches and weighs in at about 65 pounds, so Charlie’s got the height advantage and twice the ass. It doesn’t faze Jack one bit. When it’s on, it’s on.
I think if Charlie was a few years younger he could flat out fuck Jack up with no problem, but with Charlie at 11 years old, Jack would have the advantage if the fight goes on more than a few seconds which is why I’m so anxious to break them up when they do fuss. He’s nimbler and quicker, plus as you can see from the picture he’s got Boxer in him along with that breed’s jaw strength, which I can personally attest to. He accidentally nailed me in the thigh a couple weeks ago when I was kicking him and Charlie apart and the four puncture holes from his canines still haven’t healed completely up. Luckily for both of us I’m not well hung.
The good thing is they don’t go out of their way to start shit. When Charlie wants to go out, he goes down the steps and pays Jack no mind, and Jack knows when Charlie’s out he needs to be with me on the other side of the porch getting his ex nuts rubbed. Just don’t let them get close to each other.
He’s fine with Legal Lucy. He wants to play but he’s so damned big and clumsy he scares her a little. She’ll go outside, but she goes back inside the house as soon as her business is done if he’s running loose.
At first she was scared to death of him – he was laid up hurt and she sniffed and playfully jumped at him which caused him to snap at her, but that’s all he did and it was all it took to convince her he’s a fucking ax murderer or something. For the next two weeks I had to sneak her out front with Jack on the back porch so she could do her thing, but one day he heard the door and came dashing around the house just as she was taking a dump. She finished her shit and then he did that playful front paw stomp at her and she figured out he wasn’t going to kill her, so now she goes out back again. She’s still leery of him, but at least she doesn’t run from him, triggering that hunter instinct.
I had to buy a kennel for Jack. I got it on sale so it only set me back a couple hundred bucks, but it’s worth its weight in gold. It takes some of the pressure off of me when Charlie wants to take his morning walk around the property, but the main reason I bought it is because Jack absolutely hates delivery trucks. I’m pretty sure that’s what ran him over because if he’s in my truck and a box truck passes us going the other direction, Jack fucking nuts up trying to get through the rear window to attack. He can be at the far end of the property fucking something up and if he sees a box truck go past the house 150 yards away, he’ll start barking, not paying one bit of attention to tractors or semis traveling down the same road.
It’s funny, but if company shows up Jack’s playful as hell, even with Jason, our mailman. Let a UPS truck show up, which happens about once a week because Miss Lisa does a fair amount of shopping online, and I have to throw Jack in the cab of my truck so the UPS guy can deliver his package. I thought it was poetic justice that the UPS man was the one that delivered his kennel. So now if we’re expecting a package or delivery, Jack goes to the jailhouse.
The Jack Jail is covered and he’s got a couple rawhide bones in there as well as a bucket of water, plus I feed him in there so it’s not a punishment place, you know? And after the first day he realized I’m not going to let him out just because he’s barking so he’s generally pretty quiet when he’s confined. He actually doesn’t mind it too much – I’ve caught him napping in there more than once with the door wide open.
That fucking dog has more energy than the law allows. I heard a funny noise the other night about 10 and when I stepped out to investigate, the Hell Hound was running laps around the house and I mean belly-to-the-ground running. He made a couple more laps around the house and then flopped down at my feet panting. I swear, if I hadn’t seen the X-rays myself, there’s no way you could convince me he had a broken pelvis just a few weeks before.
I have to go outside 3-4 times a day to play with him otherwise he might get even more destructive and might gnaw on the house or something. I’m pushing 60 and that damned dog runs me ragged. He’s got a thick knotted rope about a foot long and his favorite thing is for me to grab both ends while he’s hanging onto the middle with me swinging him around in the air in a circle, just like you’d do with a kid. I don’t need to lift weights, I got Jack.
And then I found out the other morning that white trash dog’s been having company over at night. I woke up at my usual time, a little before dawn, and looked out the back door and him and one of the neighbor dogs were just playing away right there on the back porch. I don’t really mind him having company here, I just don’t want him following them home – somebody might shoot him. So far he hasn’t shown any inclination at all to leave the property.
All and all, he’s a pretty good outside dog. He barks at cars coming in but doesn’t bite, he doesn’t dig, and he stays on the property. He’d be perfect if he would just quit chewing on shit. It’s not like I don’t give him enough to chew on – right now he’s in his bed where he’s got a beef shoulder bone he’s been working on, a couple of rawhide bones, his rope and my fucking favorite hat. Hell, I’ve given that dog so many rawhide bones he’s got them scattered all over the property. Check it out – there’s one behind him in the picture. At least that one’s exposed. You ever run over a rawhide bone with a lawnmower? It’ll wake you up, that’s for sure.
I’ve given up on getting rid of him with as much money that’s been put into him, but there’s times I’ve actually been kinda happy not to see him on the porch when I come home, but then he comes trotting up from the woodpile all happy to see me and I feel guilty.
When I had him cut, I was picking him up at the vet that afternoon and the girls up front sent the kennel boy back to get him. I could hear his nails clicking with that odd gait he’s got and I said “Shit. Here he comes…” and the girls were going “Wha…?” with a WTF expression on their faces, and I said “Yeah, you ever have one of those dogs where when you get up in the morning you hope somebody had stolen him off the back porch during the night? Come on Jack, let’s go home. I’ll drive.”
We left ’em in tears, they were laughing so hard.