I do recall the day we picked him out, though. We- and I mean the whole family by that: mum, dad, nanna, myself and my two younger brothers who were five and four at the time- went down to the AWL to look for a puppy to adopt. We had an older shepherd mix called Barnsey that was getting on in years, we'd moved to our current house a few months beforehand and my nanna decided she'd like to get a dog. And by her getting a dog it really meant a puppy for us kids.
We did look at an older dog while we were there. I think it was a kelpie looking thing, but his little card thing said he'd prefer an older, retired couple with no kids so that ruled him off the list. The run where most of the puppies were was a mixed basket: there would have been at least eight different "types" of pups there, and it was breakfast time for them so they were all pigging out in the bowls. Except for one. This little tri colour boy sat back and quietly watched the other puppies falling over themselves to eat their fill. He was a cute little stocky thing, and from what we could make out on the card he had to have been one of the "staffy x rottie" puppies called Jack.We had a bit of an introduction in one of the yards and he was so calm and gentle with us kids we decided he was a good choice. On the way home we went to school- because we'd taken the morning off to go and pick him out- and he was my show and tell of the morning. Jack was clearly a people dog. At just twelve weeks old, smack bang in the centre of thirty six and seven year old kids, he lay down, loved up the pats and cuddles and refused to budge. Mum had to come in and actually pick him up to take him home.
Being only seven I didn't do much with Jack when he was a puppy except for play with him. Dad did his training and I didn't take much notice, or remember anything else really from when he was that young.
We started at training early 2007, after going down for a fun open day and getting a brochure. I'd had a bit of an interest in dog training for a little while so I was eager to give something more challenging and interesting a shot. Our first couple of course were a shambles with Mr Independent and his unreliable recall getting in the way, along with dad who Jack would look to for guidance despite the fact I was handling him. After banishing dad to the car and utilising Jack's piggy appetite we made some progress and ended up in the highest level for that class when I unfortunately had to retire him in the middle of 2008. He'd just turned eight and crippling arthritis was becoming a major concern. He loved the classes and still did everything I asked, but it was clearly becoming too much for him to handle. I pulled him from the classes and focused on Charlie as Jack's arthritis got worse to the point that once he lay down at night, he couldn't get up in the morning without someone lifting him. If he slipped and fell he'd scream and be unable to get back up. We had to lock him inside when a storm was forecasted because he'd just race the thunder all over the property and then not be able to move for three days afterwards.It took ages and ages, and glucosamine and sardines and getting him gently moving again to get the arthritis under control, but now at eleven years old Jack's back to running about like a puppy again. Despite not having any actual agility training, I take him along to training sometimes for a run at a couple of jumpers courses and he isn't too shabby.
He's a funny dog, and you couldn't ask for a better pet. He's got spunk and attitude, but he's got such a gentle, calm nature at the same time- he can be a bit toey in his old age, but you can't really blame him for that.
Jack was definitely the reason I got into dog training in the first place, and without him I wouldn't have ended up with Charlie or started on the wonderful adventure I've been on with my dogs. Him and Barnsey were the dogs I grew up with, and I'll always love them for that: teaching me how to be patient and gentle as a kid, and how to let go and have fun as I got older.
