He came from great stock, imported from England and first generation here in the States. His grandmother's name was Holly. I thought that must have some meaning. I didn't pick him out; I asked his breeder, Sher, who has become a friend ever since we met, to choose the pup she thought was most desirable as an example of a great Jack Russell in England. Not because I don't respect the ones here in the US, but because I knew that SHE knew what mattered. She traveled to England and imported JRTs for years before I met her and had an established breeding program that was solid.

It was about instinct - function - desire to please and trainability; looks were a long way down the list other than uniformity of body shape and traditional coloring. She even had a preference for wire coats and I didn't, but she chose a pup who ended up being (in the words of my sister) "the softest coated dog with the softest dearest heart to go with it you could ever know" as demonstrated by his tolerance of her tumbling two year old son who didn't really understand about "be careful of the little dog". Modie loved everyone, and everyone loved him.

He often got into trouble because he would try and protect his life partner Miss Kate Russell. She was 3 when he came home no bigger than a handful of pup. Schutz the 140lb German Shepherd had a front paw bigger than little 'Modie'. Schutz raised him as he had raised Katie; ever so tender and gentle but with a really 'THINK BIG' outlook. Often I wondered if Modie thought he was a GSD. He had no fear and he ran from no one, always taking the world face on and with all the best intentions.

When he was still a small pup he inhaled a foxtail (scourge nasty hook-ended, hard surfaced HARD seed, that was like a the end of a crochethook). Two weeks after it traveled through his sinuses to a spot below his eye, the vet opened it up but the foxtail was nowhere to be found. 10 days later I took him in to take out the stitches and the vet scooped some goop from his eye and then exclaimed "LOOK! the foxtail!" It had traveled all the way through his head from his sinus and come out his eye. I know that sounds gross but it was just one very odd thing he survived and there were many to come over his adventurous life.

Modie made friends where ever he went. He was patient and kind, loved to ride in the truck and eat bananas (Katie taught him that). He had the sweetest face and untrue to JRT tradition he really didn't bark unless there was something worth while and he learned that from Schutz I'm sure. He was the first one to FLY off my bed at night if something went thump, or the door bell rang - he was my protector and he was seriously the only male for these last 2 years since Phantom passed away. He took his boy dog job very seriously.

Last February, Modie was diagnosed with Canine Cushings. I was devastated, and even more so when I found out it was nothing like Equine Cushings because I know about THAT. I knew nothing about the dog version, and the more I read and learned the more I didn't like what I was taking in. Modie also had a sinus infection that was causing his breathing to be labored and then his abdomen became enlarged and distended. Our own Dr. Tom sent us across town to Dr. John at Baring Blvd Vet Hospital. Dr John specialized in doing ultrasound and scope diagnosis on small animals. Together we looked and he understood when I said I didn't want to give him the traditional drugs for the Cushings, (they were toxic and 'chemo therapy-like'), but could we treat his sinus and see how he did with me making some changes to his diet and exercise? Dr John was all about doing what we thought was best for Mo. It was almost 4 months later when he shared with me he never expected him to live more than a few weeks after he saw him the first time (just a month ago when we went in for a check up).

So for the last five months Modie has been living in his somewhat awkward body (not so awkward he could not catch a mole 2 weeks ago) but it was harder for him to go up and down stairs and he had to be lifted on to the bed. He didn't want to use the stairs I bought. He flew off the bed or couch if I was not there to put him down. He ate and drank and played. He didn't go out the door unless he had his tennis ball in his mouth, even if he didn't have the energy to play once out side. He'd roll in the grass and hang out while Faith and Katie ran around. But not one day went by that he did not make HIS daily trip around the perimeter of the dogs' fenced area here at the farm - about a quarter of an acre - he would cruise the fence line, bark at the birds, check the sprinklers and take care of me. That was his job you know, to make sure I was safe. He rarely missed a Red Sox game ... only if I did ... he liked to watch baseball on TV.

He never missed a meal till the last day, and yet he ate and looked at me as if to say 'You know Holly, I REALLY didn't want to do that' and as the night went on I made sure he got outside when he needed and we snuggled in the bed like always and he slept some and he dreamed and by morning after a very brief walk outside I knew he was ready to give up this fight. I kept him warm wrapped up in my sweat shirt even though it was a nice warm morning and when the time came it was peaceful and quiet and calm, and I did take him in to Dr. Tom—because he wanted to ride in the truck. So 'The Littles' are no more - just the girls, as he leaves behind the love of his life, P. Katie Russell and his big boxer girl, Faith... and me. We'll miss his little soft coat, dear hearted, sweet self for a long long time.  God Bless you little Mo for taking such good care of me—you were simply the best little dog ever and I know that Schutz was over the bridge waiting for your arrival along with Laila and Crystal, who he has missed since they left in May, and now they're all romping and playing and painfree... forever.

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