Seconds Out

by Ken Blackmore
Copyright © 2004 Kerry Blue Terrier Foundation

Now that September is upon us and the orange cloak of autumn slowly creeps in, Jezebel’s coat is finally beginning to grow back. And with it her Kerry Blue temperament, for in the first few days I imagined that she lost her identity when she lost her fur. Though she had a wonderful time throughout the summer, dancing and prancing and bouncing everywhere in the hot Vancouver sun, it was her master who felt put out walking this strange, shapeless dog. Forgive my self-centeredness, but I wanted my Kerry back.

And back she is; her familiar beard and furry legs beginning to grow and fill out as she struts confidently alongside her two-legged pal. Yet it also seems to attract the attention of other dogs, her natural shape a red flag to most canines. I can’t explain it, but these other animals’ growl and hiss at her, goading her for a scrap. Normally Jezebel will merely stand these other dogs down, such is her aloof Terrier attitude. But occasionally, that rare bully dog will insist on ‘having a go’, and this is what happened not too long ago.

We were returning from the park after Jezebel’s regular bout of trying to herd the local squirrels. She tries, she really does, and one of these days, Jezebel assures me, she’ll catch one, though I know too well that she won’t. They say that once the greyhound catches the rabbit that it’ll never chase again, well, here’s hoping that she never does catch those poor nut-hoarding creatures. It’s simply too funny to see her gallop across the green, tail in the air like a shark’s fin before gazing upwards at the tree that the squirrel escaped to. She then trots back to me, proud as punch, a look on her face that says, ‘Next time!’
So, as I mentioned, we were returning home. I tend to take her around a two-block radius from the park that takes us behind our house. It was here where she was set upon. Normally I would have her off her lead as there’s a plain of grass which leads to the complex of townhouses that she scampers on, but considering it was late afternoon there was an awful lot of traffic so I had her held tight.

And then, this thing appeared, stockier, bigger than Jezebel, marching across the road towards her. This thing looked like a yellow Wookie on four legs, all hair and teeth. Both dogs wagged their tails, began sniffing each other in their ritualistic greeting, and without warning, the Wookie started to growl.
At first I wasn’t concerned, for Jezebel has told other dogs twice her size, be they Alsatians, Dobermans or Pit-Bulls, to go away with a loud, deafening bark. After four and a half years, Jezebel has never been in a fight and I would never coerce her into doing so. And while before I managed to pull her away from any would-be dog-fight, there was something about this dog that rubbed her up the wrong way.

Through the corner of my eye I saw the Wookie’s owner, a woman in her twenties, come running from her house to grab her cuddlesome pet. She asked me was Jezebel a bitch, which I replied yes, and then realized that so was the offending Wookie.
Ah. Two bitches. Not good.

The second that she tried to pull her dog away (Poppet, I think she called her) that both animals leapt into the air and literally tore at each other. It was insane. I grappled with Jezebel’s lead, desperately trying to pull her back, the other owner doing the same, clutching Poppet’s collar and tugging the Wookie to one side. Such was the ferociousness of the fight that Jezebel slipped from her collar, it flipping backwards, catching my knuckle and grazing the skin. With her collar still attached to her lead and dangling in my hand I had no choice but to wade in and lift Jezebel off the ground as Poppet’s owner dragged the snarling yellow Wookie back towards her house.
Both humans in a state of shock, we apologized profoundly to one another as we retreated to our territories, carrying our feuding dogs to the safety of our bunkers. Once I had reached the grassy knoll of my property I plopped Jezebel onto the ground, she still excited, running back and forth as I called for her to the front of the house. Here I fumbled with my keys, opening the hall door as Jezebel stormed inside, eager to relive the fight with her master, over a cup of tea, no doubt.
Phew.

My heart was racing. My knuckle was bleeding - and then I saw her limping. Was she bitten? Was she bleeding? I checked her legs, my hands gently combing her fur. No blood. Her head and face seemed fine; there was no blood around her mouth or lips. As I skimmed her right side, she let out a yelp, backing away from my touch. I held her tightly as she would allow me to, telling her it was ok as I searched her ribs for any sign of a bite mark. I couldn’t find any, but she was in a lot of pain. I could only surmise that during the fight, when both dogs stood on their hind legs that Poppet the Wookie came crashing down with her front paws on Jezebel’s ribs.

Ouch.

A visit to the vet’s confirmed this. Thankfully, she was not bitten, but the ribs on her right side were bruised and tender. The Doc gave her an injection for the pain and told me he’d call in the morning to see how she is. That night, as you can imagine, she milked the situation for all it was worth. As I tucked her onto her sheep skin, this canine diva bemoaned her predicament like the attention-seeking patient she is…

* * *

And yet, there is more to this story. Since this ‘outrageous, unprovoked assault’ happened (she insisted I write that) she has not forgotten who attacked her or where she was attacked. Having yet to see the dog face-to-face after the fact, Jezebel’s ears prick up and her eyes scan the area each and every time we make our way around that particular block. She knows that Poppet lives there. She knows what Poppet looks like. It’s as if she wants a … rematch.

Don’t believe me? Ok, picture this. An afternoon is spent chasing squirrels in the park while I sat on a bench reading a book on Mesopotamian mathematics (or something). Who happens along but a friendly, golden Labrador, tail wagging excitedly, tongue hanging from its grinning mouth as he approached Jezebel, eager to say hello.

Jezebel takes one look at the poor Labrador, sees that his coat is yellow (yes, I know dogs are color blind) and releases a series of nasty snarls and OTT roars at him, forcing the Labrador to flee, his tail between his legs. The owner of the Labrador gave me a pretty nasty look too as he comforted his dejected pet, wondering just what kind of a dog-owner I was. I can only imagine that Jezebel was momentarily reminded of her arch-nemesis, even though the Labrador, apart from the color of its coat, looked nothing like Poppet. At that precise moment Jezebel took whatever frustration she was feeling out on poor Goldilocks the Labrador. It was then that I was convinced that Jezebel is itching for a rematch.

They say an elephant never forgets, but Kerry Blue’s carry vendettas. Personally, I think she should stick to chasing squirrels.

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