This is Calvin, my precious, adorable Airedale Terrier....
This is what Wikipedia has to say about Airedales....The Airedale Terrier (often shortened to "Airedale" or "ADT") is a breed of the terrier type, originating in Airedale, a geographic area in Yorkshire, England. It traditionally was called the "King of Terriers" because before the creation of the Black Russian Terrier by the NKVD, the Airedale was largest of the terrier breeds. The breed has also been called the Waterside Terrier, because it was bred originally to hunt otters in and around the valleys of the River Aire which runs through Airedale. In England this breed has also been used as a police dog.
Well-to-do hunters of the era were typically accompanied by a pack of hounds and several terriers, often running them both together. The hounds would scent and pursue the quarry and the terriers would "go to ground" or enter into the quarry's burrow and make the kill. Terriers were often the sporting dog of choice for the common man. Early sporting terriers needed to be big enough to tackle the quarry, but not so big as to prevent them from maneuvering through the quarry's underground lair. As a result, these terriers had to have a very high degree of courage and pluck to face the foe in a tight, dark underground den without the help of human handlers.
During the middle of the nineteenth century, regular sporting events took place along the Aire River in which terriers pursued the large river rats that inhabited the area. A terrier was judged on its ability to locate a "live" hole in the riverbank and then, after the rat was driven from its hole by a ferret brought along for that purpose, the terrier would pursue the rat through water until it could make a kill. As these events became more popular, demand arose for a terrier that could excel in this activity. One such terrier was developed through judicious crossings of the Black-and-Tan Terrier and Bull and Terrier dogs popular at the time with the Otter Hound. The result was a long-legged fellow that would soon develop into the dog we recognize today as the Airedale Terrier. This character was too big to "go to ground" in the manner of the smaller working terriers; however, it was good at everything else expected of a sporting terrier, and it was particularly adept at water work. This big terrier had other talents in addition to its skill as a ratter. Because of an infusion of hound blood it was blessed with the ability to scent game and the size to be able to tackle larger animals. It became more of a multipurpose terrier that could pursue game by powerful scenting ability, be broken to gun, and taught to retrieve. Its size and temperament made it an able guardian of farm and home. One of the colorful, but less-than legal, uses of the early Airedale Terrier was to assist its master in poaching game on the large estates that were off-limits to commoners. Rabbits, hare, and fowl were plentiful, and the Airedale could be taught to retrieve game killed by its master, or to pursue, kill, and bring it back itself.
This is what Calvin's "mama" has to say about him. He's one FEROCIOUS hunter! He, without a doubt, proves that he's meant to hunt out small animals, from rodents to fowl. He's a lean mean, huntin' machine.
A year or so before dad died, he was quite worried that Calvin was becoming a very mean dog with tendencies for blood. He (Calvin, not dad) was quite taken with chasing squirrels and chipmunks, which he actually frequently caught and played with. One of his last catches when dad was alive was this adorable little cardinal.
We had actually just come home from a romp at the dog park and Calvin rocketed out of the car into the yard. As I strolled out of the garage I saw him dancing around the yard like a puppy and I heard him playing with one of his squeak toys, or so I thought. The squeak ended up continuing on in a different kind of way and I did a second take as I moved closer and saw a bright flash of red. All of a sudden I realized that it wasn't a squeak toy, but an animal. I finally got Cal away from the bird and it was just laying there, I thought perhaps deceased by that point. But, as I stood looking at it, I noticed his chest heaving and he was shaking.
Being that the cardinal is the state bird, I HAD to take action! :) I contacted Calvin's vet who informed me of a vet in a nearby town that also acted as an animal rescue for wildlife. I grabbed a bowl that I use for surgical instruments for work, stuffed a blanket in and carefully deposited the little shocked Cardinal into the bowl. Then, in a flash, I strapped him into my front car seat and took off for the vet.
The funny thing is I had to sign my life away to get them to take care of the bird. I had to sign all of these forms that said that I wouldn't come back and claim the bird after he was better. It was a hard call, but I thought it best that we said out goodbyes at that point :)
To assuage dad's fears of a maneating Airedale, I chatted with the vet about Calvin's tendencies to bloodshed and I was assured that he was doing what he was bred for. He never kills these things on purpose, but just kind of bats them about and plays with them. Once they're still, he's done with them and goes off. Sounds horrible, but I guess thats what "ratters" do!
Here's an example of Calvin batting around and squeaking his monkey (Karl, please make no comments on this combined with his indecent pose....). I think the monkey is long gone as Calvin's made sure to do away with him. Well, he's not as bad as his neice, Bailey, who chews the squeakers out of all Calvin's little toys.
Here's a shot of Calvin and Bailey hard at work, being their Airedale, rat-hunting selves. Here's a little fact about their docked tails. They were bred to go into holes to chase "varmin" but sometimes they would get stuck so their tales were bred so that their owner could grab hold of the one visible piece of their canine and pull them out of the hole. Handy-dandy, huh?
If you were a rat or a "hole" creature, how could you ever be scared with this adorable face coming after you????!!!!!!!
The reason I write this story, is because, today, while on a brisk walk down the street, Calvin happend upon a pile of leaves at the side of the road that was rustling and moving. I let him stop to sniff - mistake. He sniffed briefly and, all of sudden, there was a rush and a flash and then I pulled him back and saw the tale of a little "Fieval" in his mouth and it was squeaking just like his squeaky toys. He stood there with it squeaking for a second and then I hit him on the head and he dropped it, and I'm afraid, there is some mouse family minus its mother, father, aunt, uncle, grandma or grandpa. Its little guts were exploded all of the road and Calvin looked quite pleased with himself that he had ridded the world of another frightening little rodent.
Sad - but its good to know I don't have a defective dog. He's doing what he's supposed to - and I must admit, that I do have a little bit of sad joy that there's one less mouse that we have to worry about entering the house or the garage (or my car as I just spent $500 cleaning out a massive mouse nest from my car engine).
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