My name is Jill. I'm a Lakeland Terrier. I live with a man, a lady, and a spoiled cat. I'm the best dog on the planet, all evidence to the contrary and despite what you may have heard. Sometimes my lady and the man call me Jillet, or Jill the Pill. I have a very large vocabulary, but frankly I don't understand the pill part. Many moons ago my people completely disrupted my otherwise perfect world. Furniture began to leave my home. My bed disappeared. Then came the suitcases. I know what suitcases mean -- I'm going traveling. I've traveled many times to many places. I travel in my room; Jill's room, they say. But something was different about this recent travel. I don't think I'm returning home. My accoutrement came along with me. These crazy people simply decided to pick up my toys, bowls, and raincoat . . . and go. Speaking of toys, I haven't seen my river otter in a long time.
So after this crazy-long time in my room, I've arrived in a place with very unusual smells and sounds. It's overwhelming, I admit. People are using words that I've never heard. Even my man speaks to me with words that are not in my vocabulary. The lady, too. Hey, lady, if you want me to wait, just say so. This alto word has no meaning for me. Okay, so I've been moved to a little house with no soft floors. I like the cool floor, but where is my air-conditioning? And there's no grass, so where am I to hurry-up . . . or make poo? There's also no fence, and I really like that . . . so I'm a free-range terrier now . . . or at least I try to be. Someone is constantly calling me back to the patio or this new building where these people sleep. Me? I'm ready to roam.
Yesterday I had a new adventure. We went to a place with more water than my old swimming pool. The water was salty. It also moved around. These people just get a whim, place me in my room, and off we go. Bam! Like it's no big deal . . . they just go. I've been rocked around up and down hills, chased ducks, seen new animals, and now this really large water place. The Pacific they said. True, I was initially a bit puzzled. Why does the edge of the pool move around so much? Why does it get deep so fast and then leave me covered in some kind of new dirt?
Oh, golly. Maybe I'm not quite ready to explore this big salty pool. A quick retreat . . . the ground shifts underfoot. On the other hand: Never let 'em know you're uncertain. I was bred to work independently -- I can do this. Eventually I'll get the hang of it. I'm a grand total of 14 inches at my shoulders, so it doesn't take a lot of moving water to sweep me away. There I am wearing something the man calls my sports bra. Yo, lady . . . if you can simply pack up on a whim and move to this place with new animal smells and moving water, you won't get the better of me. I will push on, fearlessly . . . sort of.
Once you get the hang of moving earth, it's not so scary. In fact, stuff lives under this moving earth. I see little animals when the pool moves away, and then they burrow under the ground.
One of my words is dig . . . oh, and sniff it. They use this sniff it stuff when I'm supposed to find a mouse at a mouse hunt event. I'm really good at that. I can also sniff out a squirl or a piece of fallen food. They taught me to dig so that they could teach me no dig! True story. Rather cruel, don't you think? Anyway, as the pool went away I was shown a little hole and told to sniff it and dig. Sure enough. Something alive was in that little hole. I never found it, but I saw movement and I'll catch it next time.
So look at me now. I rule something they call beach. I can go in and out of this pool at will. I don't like the taste of the water. I do like how easy it is to dig here. Is this why you people just picked up and moved me here . . . just like that, as if it was only a matter of going? We should have done this years ago.
I'm getting tired. Did someone bring my water bowl, because I can't drink from this pool. I've been walking for an hour, and in this moving ground, it's harder than it looks. I've got grit in my mouth. I'm a little uncertain as to whether I want to do this every day. When did you say my new pool will be complete?
I heard that. I heard that bath word. You people don't think I listen. You don't think I've heard you talking about that big white tub where Meg eats her meals. I know what you've said. You've said dog washing station. I don't know what a station is, but I sure know washing. And while we're on the subject, there are several things that I know.
Things I know that they don't realize I know:
- They've discussed visits to not one but two vets, and I heard the words tick shot.
- Nut-Meg roams at will . . . I know, I've seen her. She goes over the edge of that mountain and you people just don't realize how often she does it.
- I gleaned much more from endless hours of Lawrence of Arabia than you imagine. There's no stopping now short of water -- I get it . . . so let's go to the water bowl.
- Perlita is a dog I will never meet. They said I'm not well socialized, and I heard Snack Group.
- There's going to be lots of thunder and that lady says she will not share Xanax. Who's the bitch?
- They say that I'll never see or catch the new pool sweep. Wanna bet?
- That big bed in the cool room is soft and I nap on that big bed when you're not watching.
- I have made poo in the middle of the road and you didn't see me.
