I’ve been thinking about getting another dog. No, that’s not right. When parents adopt a child, they don’t say, “I’m gonna get a child.” So, it’s more like, “I’m thinking of adopting a dog.” But, as dog parents everywhere know, you don’t adopt a dog. They adopt you. I
think of Alexandria, especially Old Town, as a dog community with people added in.

I am partial to Jack Russells. Everyone who has ever parented a dog is partial to their own
breed, even if the breed is of uncertain provenance. I know a guy who adopted an Irish Setter, which was the single dumbest creature ever to walk on four legs. When, after years of doggedness – you should pardon the pun – he taught the dog to sit, he’d have applied for a Nobel Prize for Dogs if there were such a thing.

Say what you will about Jacks. They can be eccentric, yappy, clingy, loud. But never dumb. And never dull. Jack Russells never want to miss out on anything and, by staying alert and present, rarely do.

Woody was our first Jack: small, white with tan and brown spots, a cropped tail much like Eddie on “Frasier.” To say that Woody was eccentric is like saying that Irish Setter was a member of Mensa.

She was incredibly sensitive to sounds, especially of the high-pitched variety. Shuffling cards and the sound of a tape measure were two prominent examples. But even someone kissing someone hello, a peck on the cheek, would send her into paroxysms.

She would attack the nearest chair leg and drag the piece a few feet while growling furiously. One time, my daughters and I were at a playground, while a hundred yards away a man with his family undertook to measure a swing set with a tape measure. Uh oh. Big problem.

Woody went tearing across the playground pell mell with my girls and me in pursuit. To the frightened howls of the man’s kids, Woody clamped down on the end of the tape and began shaking it ferociously while the startled dad held on for dear life as though he had hooked a Hammerhead.

It’s not as though we didn’t try to train her, but the one trainer we hired was last seen hot-footing around our living room with Woody at his heels. She flunked Obedience School. I’ve been known to practice a little magic, so I invited my 9-year-old nephew, Scott, to sit at a table with me so I could perform a card trick. Woody, as always, was in attendance. I intoned, in my best magician’s voice, “Now Scott, you simply will not believe this card trick. But first …” I looked at Woody meaningfully, “Woody, will you please move that chair out of the way.” I shuffled the cards, and, on cue, and ROB with a growl, Woody clamped on to the chair leg and dragged WHITTLE it to the side. Scott, amazed, felt around for hidden guy wires.