Showdown at the OK Corral

by Janet Joers
Copyright © 2003 Kerry Blue Terrier Foundation
From the March 1993 issue of Kerry Klips

Let's face it. We like to brag about our dogs. Bragging--even exaggerating--seems to be a trait among terrier owners, and among Kerry owners in particular. We brag when our dogs bark at thunder (no hiding under the bed for them), when they tell off unwelcome visitors, and even when they show aggression in the show ring (although I'm definitely not in that camp). We brag that our Kerries are smarter, funnier, cuter, and more adorable than anything else on the face of the earth. And although I own my very first Kerry (and very first terrier and very first dog), I'm no exception. Thus begins my story.

Living with a Kerry in the country has advantages and disadvantages. For one thing, my Jazz has the opportunity to meet all sorts of wildlife--from the lowly field mouse, crow, and gopher, to the more exotic potbellied pig, llama, ostrich, and even zebra. While all these creatures may be stimulating, the excitement soon wears off before Jazz is pursuing other exploits and adventures. (Like the time she encountered her first duck and decided to walk on water . . . but that's another story). As one can imagine, keeping her entertained can be something of a problem. And when you mix her sense of adventure with an owner who can't distinguish between a calf, a cow, a steer, and a bull, you've got a recipe for an interesting afternoon.

It was a great afternoon--cool and sunny--for a walk down our country road, which is lightly traveled on the busiest days. The rains had made the road impassable to all but the occasional Jeep, crisscrossed as it was by overflowing creeks near belly-deep on a Kerry. While I sometimes let Jazz off lead here, she wasn't this time. Not only did she need more practice with the "Come!" command (which in fact may never compete with whatever it is hiding in the bushes), I also wasn't eager to watch her swim for the first time (downstream in a raging torrent, no less).

There we were, just the three of us--my husband Jan, me, and Jazz--and a placid herd of cows (at least, I think they were cows) grazing peacefully beside the road. Such stillness. Such solitude. Stopping by a pasture gate, all you could hear were the cows munching grass. That is, until I heard the unmistakable click of the leash. Then Jan yelling like a wild man, "Go get 'em Jazz! Go get 'em!" Before I could think "Holy cow!" there was Jan (with a Kerry-like gleam in his eye) squeezing Jazz under the gate, although she didn't seem to need any encouragement. And there were those cows--a whole herd of them--raising their heads to stare, and somehow getting bigger by the minute. I've never been to a bull fight, but I've watched enough westerns to know my little fluffball wasn't going to win in a stampede. These placid cows seemed to look mean all of a sudden. But if they did, Jazz didn't seem to notice.

Step by step, Jazz slowly approached the cows without fear, and they approached her. Now that they had stopped munching, the only sound to be heard was my heart pounding. Suddenly, about five feet from the cows, Jazz stopped. The cows stopped. Jazz stared. The cows stared. Showdown.

What happened next? Did the cows paw the ground and charge? Not exactly. Jazz pawed the ground. Then, very deliberately, she raised her leg, pee-ed in front of everybody, kicked her back legs out like Ms. Macho, and continued to approach the rather puzzled-looking bovine (under the delighted gaze of one of her owners, which wasn't me).

By now, there was a tight herd of about five cows. And if I'm not mistaken, I think I detected Jazz hesitate for a fraction of a second. Maybe she was reconsidering about taking them all on at once. In any event, she came whisker-to-whisker with two of the five, while I was ready to faint from suspense.

I'm not sure what caused it--Jazz's act of marking her territory, or the cows' natural instinct when confronted with a Kerry Blue Terrier, but one second they were sniffing each other, and the next the cows turned tail and ran the other way about as fast as a cow can run.

Now, people who don't know Kerries would expect Jazz to come trotting back to her master with a look of triumph. Of course, Kerries are too cool for that. She strolled. Besides, there was still that bush over there to explore, and that interesting smell by that rock to investigate. When she finally came back, I held the lead the rest of the way.

I might add that when I got home, I did a little research on cows. I've decided that they weren't cows afterall. They were bulls. And now that I think of it, they were Texas long-horns at that! And if you hear me tell this story again, they were really stampeding buffalo! (What did I tell you about Kerry owners?)

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