Bandit

I know I already posted that I lost him, but I felt like I need to say more about Bandit. I believe that everyone who reads this blog feels the same about their animals as I do. They aren’t “dogs” or “pets” or “things”, they are “kids”, loved, cherished, doted on. If you don’t feel that way, you might want to skip the blog for the day.

Mike and I got suckered into buying Rylee, Bandit’s mother. I saw a picture and HAD to have her. HAD TO! We’d always had big dogs…Labs or Rottweilers, so a small dog was a new experience! 9 week old Rylee walked into our lives and said “Put up, or shut up! I’m taking over!” And she did!

When she was three years old, we decided to breed her. She was registered with JRTCA, who registers dogs only after they are a year old, and only after viewing pictures and an extensive vet check. Our female, we believed, was a PERFECT representation of the breed. So we searched for two years for a suitable male to complement our perfect female. 61 days after her first date, Rylee delivered 8 pups. A HUGE litter for a Jack Russell! One died immediately. After six weeks, we realized that six were perfect and one was incorrect. The tri-color male. The lower jaw was undershot and he was obviously pigeon-toed. We would never be able to register him, and he was so dang cute, I had to keep him.



Is that not the CUTEST pup you’ve ever seen?

When the last puppy went to her new home, Bandit moved in and was promptly crowned “King of Everything”. He could do nothing wrong, EVER! (Mike will tell the story different, of course) He was the source of many many hysterics, usually mine, and almost ALWAYS at Mike’s expense!

One night, when Bandit was about 6 months old and still in potty training, I was awakened in the middle of the night by “KAREN! KAREN! The damn dog just pee’d in the bed.” I got out of bed and turned on the light, put the dogs out, and flipped the covers back to survey the damage.

Mike was wrong. Bandit hadn’t pee’d in the bed. My darling had gotten up under the covers, lifted his leg, and pee’d on Mike’s back. Remember the hysterics part? I had them. Mike didn’t find any humor in the situation, not even years later when I tell the story and snicker. I managed to save the pup from certain death by convincing Mike that Bandit was sorry and he’d just gotten confused. I don’t care who you are, the story is still funny!

At the time, we had a swimming pool. Bandit LOVED to swim! Apparently he’d missed the briefing that explained that Jack Russell Terriers aren’t water dogs.






Bandit also missed the briefing that he was supposed to be a cat killer. We have a HUGE male cat, Spaz (4 yrs old and weighs in at 16 pounds) and he and Bandit would wrestle all over the house. Mostly in the middle of my bed, because Bandit would “attack” the cat while he was napping, but occasionally elsewhere in the house. Bandit would ignore our petite female can, and Spaz ignored the other two dogs.

Bandit LOVED “Doo-De-Doos”!!! These are the little tubes in the middle of paper towel rolls or toilet paper rolls, striped of any extra paper, that you hold up to your mouth and say “Doo-Doo-De-Doos”, as if it were a trumpet. The hairy little monster would LOSE HIS MIND!! He’s jump and claw up the front of you, trying with all his might, to get that little tube of cardboard. Once he got it, he’d take it to the living room and “kill” it. Within minutes, it would be shaken, shredded, smooshed, and slobbered into bits the size of a nickel, then abandoned, leaving me or Mike to pick up the carcass and throw it away.

Bandit and Rylee would play tug of war, using one of Mike’s socks. It wasn’t always with Mike permission, either! The way they’d growl and carry on, you’d think the hounds of the Baskerville’s were fighting to the death in my living room. Once bored with the game, they’d drop the slobbered sock and go in search of an empty lap. They liked Mike’s the best, because he is so much warmer than me, and his lap is smooshier!

Mike was not always the target of Bandit’s mis-deeds. In October 2008, Mike bought me a new pair of riding boots, Ariat Springbucks. The old ones had holes where my little toes had chewed through the fabric. So my new boots arrived! They were custom ordered, because they don’t carry them locally anymore. I wore them once to ride Angel. (Yes, I know. Surprise! I DO actually ride on occasion)
The next day, we were on our way to the feed store. Mike told the dogs, “C’mon, let’s go!” I threw a fit! I didn’t feel like fighting a Lab and two Jack Russells in the pickup and I didn’t want to smell dog breath when I came out of the store. So, mean ol’ me, made the dogs go back in the house. When I returned, one boot was not longer a boot. It was now a clog. Bandit didn’t even bother to look guilty. It was as if he was telling me, “That’s what you get for not letting me go.”

I thought when Bandit died, there would be a huge hole left in my life. While I miss him terribly, I realize that remembering him and laughing again at his antics, each puts a tiny patch on my heart, covering the hole of loss and sorrow with a patchwork of love and laughter. So there are no more tears and sadness, just a smile, and perhaps a snort when a memory thought forgotten replays in my head and I remember again just how funny and exciting loving this little dog has been!


New Pics of Beau coming tomorrow.