Addicted to Brittanys: Jake

The AKC definition of Brittany Spaniel is okay as far as it goes: “The Brittany is lively and smart and has an upbeat, willing disposition.”

 Hmmm. I’d take issue with a lot of that. They are “willing” as in if your wishes and theirs coincide, they are right there. But if they are busy (and they are always busy) when you call a Brittany,they will acknowledge you and keep doing what they were doing. (“S’up? I’ll get to you when I’m done. So, I’ll get to you eventually.”)

Brittanys are super smart, not average dog smart which can be frustrating. Who wants to have their furry friend constantly outsmart you?

Me apparently.

I am a Brittany addict.

I got my first Brittany -then called Brittany Spaniels- thirty-something years ago in the same way I have acquired  most of the quadrupeds in my life: because I’m a sucker.

Jake had been adopted by an idiot friend and his stupid wife in the misguided attempt to save their marriage. Like many jackasses before them, and a zillion people during the pandemic, they didn’t think adopting a pet through. All they saw was that Jake was adorable, friendly and housebroken.

They didn’t consider that dogs need exercise, (Brittanys are HUNTING dogs. They need a ton of exercise) as well as food and water. My loser friend worked at home but he was lazy. Extremely lazy.

So when Jake, then barely a year old – a puppy really- needed more stimulation than a twice daily walk, and started to destroy couches and anything he could wrap his teeth around, they yelled, hit and confined him to the kitchen.

As I said, they were geniuses. Not. (And, I might not have to add, former friends.)

When they announced he was a bad dog and going to the pound, I stepped up to take him.

My exact words were, “I have no life anyway; so what difference does another dog make?”

That has apparently become my mantra. I might have it tattooed on my arm.

Jake’s entrance to our lives was dramatic. The first night he was in my apartment he chased Catcher the cat, scared my canaries, barked at Keeper the dog, ran out the front door (through the screen) and tore down the street with me running after him.

I eventually caught him, and with regular walks (about six to ten a day), a bunch of obedience classes, constant work and a lot of love, Jake became a charming, occasionally obedient dog. I adored him.

He was never the easiest dog: Brittanys never are. They are super sweet, and love deeply, but they are never going to be a Labrador. You either love them, or are exhausted and exasperated by them.

Personally I find them hilarious.

A few years after Jake joined the family I moved into my first house. He may or may not have been the driving force behind home ownership.

Regardless, the selling point of my new house with the giant back yard. The previous owners had left a kid’s fort behind. It was a nifty thing, with a ladder to the top deck with a slide on the front.

Within days Jake learned that if he climbed the ladder, it brought him closer to the tree branches, where the squirrels hung out.  However, he didn’t like the slide and couldn’t go down the ladder.

This meant that inevitably, I’d be working away in my office, which had a window facing the yard. Just as I’d get really deep into a piece, the sharp bark of a Brittany would pierce my concentration. I’d look out and there would be Jake, stuck on the top of the fort, screaming his head off, with Keeper barking at him from the ground.

Obviously I’d have to stop working and go outside to help., I’d climb the ladder and with Jake in my lap, slide down. Except since it was a child’s slide and I had an adult butt, it wasn’t much fun.

More than once we’d get stuck. He thought it was a blast. Me, not so much.

I found a nearby preschool that wanted the fort. It was gone within the month. Jake missed it.

Jake was the itchiest dog I’ve ever had. Naturally we went to a veterinary allergist. (I have 13 vets listed in my phone. Including the canine allergist, the small animal ophthalmologist, a neurologist etc. There is one human doctor’s number.) Turns out Jake was allergic to almost everything in Southern California, including dust, grass, and smog and native pollen.

I had a couple of options, the doctor mused. I could have him had a series of allergy shots, but given the breadth of his problems, it probably wouldn’t work. Or I could re-home him, to some place far from Los Angeles.

Neither were options. But, my parents had a lovely farm in the Berkshire Mountains of Western Massachusetts. The vet thought if he spent the summer with my Mom, it might help disrupt the allergy cycle.

Which is how Jake started going to summer camp. 

I stayed almost a week to make sure he was going to be okay. I shouldn’t have worried. Jake settled in pretty quickly with my parents and their three dogs and several horse boarders.

In fact, he settled much faster than my folks. They weren’t used to a dog as clever as Jake. 

The first night they left him in the house with the other dogs when they went out to dinner. They carefully closed up the house and drove away. Three hours later, when they returned, he was sitting on the front porch happy as a clam.

That first week I saw a chipmunk running across the porch. I told Jake to “go get it.” I never expected him to listen. But apparently he’d been waiting for that moment his entire life. That poor chipmunk never had a chance. Decades later I still feel horrible about it. Jake was ecstatically happy.

He loved his summers at the Farm. It also worked. He never had severe allergies again. And as a bonus, most of the chipmunks and squirrels that plagued the farmhouse moved on.

He figured out how to open the gate to the pool. He’d get out of the main house unless every door was closed and locked. And of course, no food could be left unattended. He’d never steal food while you were watching. Instead he’d pretend to be otherwise occupied. But once you looked or stepped away, the food was gone. Swallowed in a single bite.

Mom used to say that you could watch Jake figure things out. He’d just watch and look, and then – bam, whatever he was working on, he’d have the solution. If Jake had opposable thumbs he could have solved a Rubic’s Cube.

I have no doubt she was right.