Man's Best
Friend
by Peter
Wakefield Kitcher
I’ve
always liked dogs. I grew up with dogs. My father
bred dogs: Great Danes, Mastiffs, Retrievers, and
occasionally getting down to smaller dogs like
Staffordshire Bull Terriers who might have been
smaller but were somewhat aggressive unless they
were trained properly. Our Bull Terriers were
well-trained and loved people. I didn’t know
much about Bull Terriers and their history of
baiting bulls until I was much older, but ours
used to get on the bed when I was about five and
push me off and then used to fight me. I didn’t
know he was supposed to be ferocious. I liked
dogs.
Now, how did I start talking about Bull Terriers?
This isn’t about Staffordshire Bull Terriers
but about a small Parson Jack Russell Terrier
named Kim. I can’t remember how we ever
thought of having a Jack Russell as a pet. They
were probably very nice dogs but they were small.
I knew that originally they had been trained to
go down into fox dens and chase them out. I knew
that they used to run with proper dogs like
foxhounds but they were small. As far as I was
concerned, they were about the same as cats who
existed to catch mice and that was all.
Kim was a little bit different from a lot of
other small dogs. The main thing was that he was
somewhat aggressive. Not just snappy but
aggressive. But this was only to other dogs. With
adults and children, especially small children,
he was the sweetest, calmest, lovingest little
dog you ever saw. Everyone, especially small
children, loved him. Kim was a quick learner and
mastered a number of tricks. He especially
enjoyed retrieving things that were thrown for
him.
Shall I say that his personality changed when he
was near another dog? He was a small dog but
great size was not a factor in his perspective of
other dogs nor in his decision to do something in
the next few minutes. Somehow, any dog larger
than him seemed to be a menace. The sweetest dog,
three inches taller than him at the shoulder,
appeared to be a menace and, according to him,
was about to tear him apart, and he always
decided he was going to attack first.
I began to like Kim very much and he was always
very nice to me and wouldn’t ever have
thought of attacking me. I began to watch him
when we were out for a walk, on a leash of course.
I noticed that, if we happened to meet another
dog, there was a sort of tension. He never
attacked; he was under control. As the weeks
passed, I studied his reactions and it appeared
that, in many cases, he seemed to be protecting
me.
I took books out of the library on animal
behaviour. I studied, I acquired documents, I
went to evening classes about animal behaviour, I
studied imprinting. I read about the history of
man’s association with dogs. I read about
the prehistoric connections and how dogs attached
themselves to humans and how they became part of
human evolution. I read of dogs in ancient Egypt
and Greece and Rome. I began to think of myself
as somewhat of an expert on animal and especially
dog behaviour.
I began to realise that small as he was, Kim was
part of my culture and his presence protected me
from danger. I wondered if he knew that he was
protecting me, my house, and my family. I watched
him and admired him.
One day, I put on my hat and took Kim for his
daily walk. We went down through the park and
down to the river. No-one was about and I let him
off his leash. We had had a lot of rain and the
river was running very swiftly. I then noticed
that it had crumbled the river bank but I noticed
too late. The bank went out from under my feet
and I fell headlong into the torrent. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw Kim watching and then he
came running towards me and dived into the river.
At that moment I knew that my life was secure, I
knew that without a moment of doubt.
I stood in three feet of water and watched him
retrieve my hat and paddle back to the river bank.
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