Phase II

A few years after discovering that dogs are not the easily lead creatures that the photos indicate, I was on a school bus coming home from a visit to a museum. I was in the window seat and when the bus stopped at a light, saw a sight that left a mark embedded so deeply in my spirit that it would never leave.

Dogs. Lots of dogs. White with black and tan markings. Running. Playing. Standing on top of dog houses. Beautiful square build dogs with folded ears and short erect tails.

I caught my breath and my heart stood still. These were more then dogs. These creatures spoke to me on a level that was so different and deep that I could not think of anything else.

My mother tried to find a picture of the dogs I saw in books, but we couldn't locate one, so I was left loving a dream.

A dream that slowly faded into the background only to reappear many, many years later.

I moved in with my grandmother and Uncle and didn't have another dog until after my children were born.

This one was given to us as a wire fox terrier. It looked like a WFT, but had way too much black to be a pure bred, but in those days there were all kinds or "fox terriers" and not of them were pure bred.

Training was still unheard of in our area, so Lulu lived in a nice little house in the fenced yard. I, like my mother, had the good sense to know that animals should not run loose and that they needed vet care.

Lulu was a nice little dog.

By the time the next dog came into our lives, our attitude to back yard houses had changed.

I wanted the dog in the house with us. My DH did not. His mother's dog lived in the house, but, for some unknown reason, he was against it. Obviously he had not expected to hear that the dog was staying and he could go live in the back yard.

We really didn't need this dog, but my sister-in-law, who was special needs, wanted me to take one of the puppies from a litter born to a "fox terrier" that my mil had gotten from her mother. These dogs had the look of fox terriers, but were most likely rat terriers. They had their roots in dogs long used on the family farms to hunt rats and other vermin. I learned that some dogs were actually brought over from England and other countries by the farming people who emigrated to the US.

I told my sil that if she had a pup that was black, tan, and white, a female, and named Bowser, I would take one. She promptly produced a tiny black and tan fur ball with a tiny bit of white on her chest, with, even at the age of 8 weeks, with the nicest proportions and square build imaginable. I was stuck.

Bowser became one of the best dogs and a great teacher.

Bowser lived in the house and DH agreed that it was the best choice. She was too little to be in an outdoor situation and, I later learned, would have been insulted if asked to stay out more then a few house, unless it suited her purposes to do so.

Bowser was a terrier to the bone. Independent. Self-sufficient. Intelligent. Free thinking. A dog that needed a home where the people would accept her for what she was.

Bowser was, however, willing to work with you, on her terms. She liked adults and children equally and would walk at the end of a lead without pulling over much.

Bowser had one bad habit.

In those days spaying and neutering was not a common practice. So, one fine day she decided to reproduce. We had no clue as to what plans she had laid out to achieve this goal. She was about 4 or 5 years old and had never indicated any interest in any other dog, but there was a wiry terrier type somewhere in the neighborhood and he must have come to visit at some time because Bowser watched her chance and got out.

We hunted everywhere for her with no luck.

A few hours later she arrived back home and didn't leave again.

Sixty days later she produced 2 puppies. One was definitely of wire fox ancestry. The other looked more like Bowser.

We kept Mitzi, the wire type and I was talked into giving the other pup to some friends of our neighbors. A mistake. And, part of the reason I'll never make a good breeder.

I watched Bowser raise her pups. I was fascinated by the interaction between mother and baby. She taught them how to survive. How to hunt. How to play. How to defend themselves. And she met with frustration.

The little black pup would not fight back. This became a source of grave concern for Bowser and I watched her try many different methods in her attempt to get this little fur ball to react. Nothing worked. It was always belly up. One day as I watched, Bowser pinched the pup when it went over on it's back, then ran around the yard, stopping to sit on the hill, obviously totally frustrated, out of ideas and very worried. This gave me much to think about and chanced forever the way I looked at dogs and their intelligence.

We gave the black pup away on the condition that the dog be kept in a fenced yard when outside.

The people brought her back for a visit. I watched as they put her down in the grass of our yard. Bowser had not seen this pup for a month.

She jumped up from sunning herself, obviously recognizing the pup. The pup ran to her and promptly attacked! Bowser was so filled with joy that I could feel it. They ran around the yard and play fought for half and hour or more.

Bowser was satisfied. Her pup had learned to survive.