Wrestling Jack and Betty Russell at Mosquito Cove

Jack’s fart filled Carrie’s truck with an odoriferous stench, and it was so bad that, even though it was a cold winter’s day, both Carrie and I rolled our windows down. Jack and Betty had quite a reputation in Sitka, and when Carrie picked me up at 1 o’clock in front of the Pioneer Home, they were waiting, sitting anxiously, on the truck’s high, small back seat.

Looking back, I realize I should have suspected something when, upon meeting me, Jack’s body literally shivered with anticipation. Compared to Jack, Betty was quite composed. She only tried to sit on my head twice. And getting in the truck without Jack and Betty getting out was a feat within itself. They both jumped forward into the front seat and were almost out the door before you could say “Jack Russell.”

I had no idea that this breed was so incredibly high-strung. They were barking and yelping and panting – well Jack was, anyway. At first Betty just couldn’t sit still. She kept jumping and hopping and trying to get into the front of the cab. The dogs belonged to Kari, and Carrie was dog/house-sitting for a few days. Although it was cold, it was a gorgeous, sunny day – something we hadn’t experienced in weeks – and we were on our way for a hike at Mosquito Cove.

When I got in the truck I told Carrie that I was a little uncertain about going. For some reason, my system was a bit upset and I had made several trips to the bathroom that morning. But I decided to chance it. And Carrie had been very ill with pneumonia. She still had a wheezy cough which kicked in whenever she laughed, which was a lot. And here we were, in our various and sundry conditions, on our way to Mosquito Cove with Jack and Betty Russell. Carrie said that Kari had gone through several house-sitters who just couldn’t take it, and every night Jack got a “doggie downer” to help him sleep. The truck cab was like a three ring circus. Although Jack whined and panted the entire way, Betty finally quit trying to climb on my head. She stood on one of the boxes on the back seat and looked intently over Carrie’s shoulder, out at the road ahead. The situation was so ludicrous, and at one point Carrie and I were laughing so hard I was afraid we might have an accident of some sort.

We traveled the six-mile route to the end of Halibut Point Road, driving past the ferry terminal, and out to large tracts of land laced with incredibly scenic hiking and walking trails. We parked the truck and I checked out the facilities, while Carrie unloaded the dogs and got them leashed. I started out with both of them, and found they had an enormous amount of energy and power, especially for such small dogs. I commented that we could enter the Iditarod with the pair. Carrie said she’d take one or both of the dogs, and I said could I please take Betty, since she would be less of a hand-full to manage. Famous last words!

We had just crossed a bridge leading onto the trailhead when a gigantic, unleashed black dog came bounding down the hill and began to check Jack and Betty out. I’ve always been a little nervous around dogs, and my first reaction was alarm. However it was soon apparent that the big dog was kind and friendly, which was good, because the woman I assumed to be his owner was somewhat of a distance behind him, still coming down the hill.

Then all of a sudden Betty began to growl. The large dog didn’t respond at first, but Betty wouldn’t let up and he finally took her on. Next thing I knew, both Betty and the big dog were snarling and starting to snap at each other. Carrie pulled Jack to the sidelines and held him, watching, as the term “three-ring circus” took on a new meaning. I pulled at Betty’s leash; however, she persisted in going after the dog and the dog was now in the mood for a fight, and so was going after her. Because there was no one to restrain the big dog, all I could do was to try to keep him and Betty separated. There was no way I was going to reach down and try to pick Betty up, so I yanked at her leash and pulled her away. This was not enough to stop her, so I flung the leash harder, and the next thing she knew, Betty found herself off the ground. All I could do was to try to keep the dogs parted. At one point I was twirling around, with the dogs circling, merry-go-round style. Betty was intermittently jumping and barking, or swinging her legs, while the large dog chased her, and the dog’s owner chased him, and Carrie kept Jack at bay.

The dog’s owner managed to get her dog collared and she took it aside. At that point, Betty had freed herself from her collar, but Carrie caught her, and handed me Jack’s reins so she could get Betty taken care of. I looked over at the woman and she kept mouthing “so sorry” and shaking her head. I wasn’t feeling too kindly towards her at this point, because dogs are supposed to be leashed on the trail. But when I looked down, I realized I had an empty leash, and Jack was loose. (The collars were loose – even tightening them to the first notch didn’t make them secure.) I kept the panic out of my voice, calmly calling Jack’s name and then grabbing him and holding him, while Carrie came over and tried to get his collar on.

We were both down on the ground at this point. I said “here, let me try” but since I had gloves on too, it wasn’t easy to fasten the collar, while trying to keep the dogs under control. We each took our gloves off and suddenly Carrie started laughing. She told the woman “these aren’t even our dogs” and I said “yeah, we obviously don’t know what we’re doing.” We looked up and there was a guy standing up on the trailhead looking down and laughing. By that time Carrie was laughing so hard she started coughing, and when I expressed concern about my own physical “situation” it just made us laugh even more.

We began the hike, and handled the “dog situation” by severely restraining Jack and Betty at the side of the trail and calling out to owners to collar their dogs as they passed. We managed the hike, and despite the fact that Jack was practically choking himself with panting and straining at the end of his leash, we had the dogs under some degree of control. We climbed steep trails, under tall hemlock and Sitka spruce, winding through deep green, moss-covered land and trees, past sun-sparkled bays, ringed with snow-capped mountain peaks, all under a bright blue sky. We stopped at one point and took in deep, deep breaths of incredibly clean, pure air, and I marveled that I was alive in such a beautiful place, and having so much fun.