...for a pretty face. Even if [sigh] it is on a terrier.
And with all pretty faces, there's a bit of madness, isn't there?
Meet Rex. He's a bit of a Shia LeBeouf, isn't he?
When I was in my twenties, I had a friend who's Jack Russell terriers (she had 2) ganged up on a puppy she introduced and killed the poor thing. Tore it to shreds, practically. We were all shocked. Until this pair came into our lives, all we knew about the breed was that it was that cute pooch on Frazier. For a time the friend was the bomb - not only was she rich and thin - she had the dog of the moment. In stereo. But then...the incident.
Needless to say the collective gasp was immediately followed the uninanimously newfound interest in the Visla. Previously dog-only persons were considering cats.
I hadn't thought much about the breed, really, until I moved to New York where my good friend, Georgina, mothers a pair of Jacks...well, Jills really, Maggie and Indie. I adore Indie - she's a bloodhound in a terrier's body if you ask me. She's an independent, sleepy sort who is content to snooze and look up every now and then. Maggie, on the other hand, as her mother put it in her most proper Aussie accent, is "the sort a sheep farmer puts down, isn't she?" Horrible. Maggie attacks anything that moves, me included. Even though she lives in a swanky pad in Chelsea, I'm always hesitatant to dog sit the girls when Georgi goes away which is often.
This bears repeating. I am a single male who thinks twice about dog sitting 25 pounds of pooch who live in a fab crib in the middle of Chelsea because of Maggie, the crazed Jack Russell.
Rex is cute though. I'm gonna arrange with the shelter for an outing to see just how crazy his pretty is. I'm wearing boots to be safe.
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