Hangin' with Jake becomes a futile effort
by Peter B. Brace • Independent Writer
I've got a friend from West Palm Beach, Fla. staying with me for a few weeks, sort of trying out island living,

Peter and Jake don't always see eye to eye. ROB BENCHLEY/The Independent

We are not sure yet if Nantucket is going to work out for this Florida Gator, but we're giving it a go.

He's 35, tall, kind of hairy with a large tan oval tattoo on his left side and quite talkative when left alone in my room for several hours. With a penchant for shredding anything - edible or not - into as many pieces as his teeth can manage, he's fond of any rendition of dried animal hide, ears, hooves and assorted body parts regardless of species.

His favorite pastime, other than eating, sleeping, and wrestling with his newest object of desire, Amani (an extremely hairy Australian Shepherd who doesn't shave her armpits, legs or any other part of her body) is writing his name all over my house on floors, walls, furniture, beds, laps and the inside and outside of my truck with his seemingly endless reservoir of yellow ink.

Deft in his marking abilities, my friend Jake can even perform these amazing feats of territoriality at length after an hour's worth of doing it outside on every single blade of grass, leaf, post and tire. And don't get me started on his prowess at silent flatulence.

Yes, of course I'm talking about my new dog, Jake, a five-year-old purebred Jack Russell Terrier, although I could easily confuse his habits with those of my brother and many of the patrons I deal with at Cambridge Street Victuals, except that he doesn't know any better.

I've always wanted to own a dog, specifically a Jack Russell. I thought it would be a relatively smooth transition from being with those owned by others to having my own dog since, growing up, it's the only breed that we ever had and since both my mother and brother each have two of them right now.

I told myself I could do this because I'm well aware of their high energy and exercise needs. Knowing a place or two to walk on this island, I figured I could keep Jake's mouth open more for yawning than barking with several good hikes a week. I also theorized that he would be good enough to bring to work twice a week, thinking he'd be so bushed from walking and wrestling with Amani that he'd gladly sleep at my cubicle all day.

Sure, they're both cute. But, the one with 'Gator blood's a bit too territorial. ROB BENCHLEY/The Independent

What I learned in the first two weeks of owning him is that he is, as a rescued dog, a problem child with little or no training, certainly none that involved the words good dog and bad dog. Of course, it's not his fault.

Dogs obtained from organizations such as Russell Rescue, Inc., an online Jack Russell terrier outfit, I am realizing, have all been traumatized to some degree, including doing time in rescue kennels, foster homes and even living on the streets or being abused. Not to mention that one month prior to my bringing him home, Jake lost two essential pieces of his canine anatomy to a scalpel. Combine all that with his move from the relative tranquility of his West Palm foster digs to Nantucket in late fall, and the guy's got to be a little on edge.

Long story short: he needs more love and help than a rambunctious puppy. The question I'm now asking myself is, "Am I up to this."

"It's a BIG responsibility, Peter," said two friends at different times when I informed them that I would be getting a dog.

Yeah, I know.

Then came the obligatory gloom-and-doom sage advice on the high-energy nature of the breed I chose. They need lots of attention and need to go on long walks every day.

Yeah, I know.

But what dog isn't a huge responsibility? What dog doesn't need a lot of attention and exercise? No answers from either of these wet blankets, just condemning looks of their own anxieties projected onto me. I think, however, they may have been right by default, not from specific knowledge of the little guy.

The responsibility part I can handle. The walking comes natural to me as a second book is in the works and the caring for him is second nature. But, what I can't do is have the heart to inflict any more traumas on the boy. As it turns out, I can't bring him to the office because of his most excellent penmanship, so he stays in his cage all day for four days a week, practicing his skywriting through the cage onto the floor, my clothing and my shoes.

Around my neighborhood, it's easy to pick out the sounds of dogs whose owners leave them chained outside all day long, and on many frigid nights.

To me, that's no way to treat a dog. A dog is either part of the family and as many of its activities as possible or it should not be owned. Dogs are people too, you know.

I've already become quite attached to Jake. But, I'm thinking I probably won't be able to keep him because I don't have the time to teach him to write only outside and therefore negate the need for being caged all day. The chewing of personal items I can live with. But I can't live with myself knowing that he's at home in a small wire box all alone when he doesn't have to be.

Although I'm not well off enough to pay for dog walkers, whisperers or trainers, friends and acquaintances are coming out of the woodwork offering their assistance. So, there is hope. I'll likely make a decision by the end of this week, as Jake's foster parents will be in Boston for a Christmas party on

Saturday. Say a prayer for me. I