They're so alike. They're both different. From one another, that is. Even as they are distinctly similar. It's really hard to imagine which of the two is the more inquisitive and adventurous of the two. Which is more mischief-inclined. We've decided they're both equally mischievous. And they act in concert with one another, in their mischief. It's as though they're carrying on a covert scheme that only a duo could carry off to great advantage to both.

When they're running off with something, like a violet that they've dug up, roots and all, from the garden, they scamper in tandem, the guilt and the exultation is equalized between them.  They do tend, whenever they're up to an escapade that they've been scolded for countless times before, to act as one. Although each doesn't need the presence and cooperation of the other to act singly; it just seems as though it's more fun for them to act as a team.

In the backyard they can romp and play wherever they like. At the front of the house, where there is no fence to enclose them and keep them safe, they're constantly closely monitored. They're getting the idea where they're permitted to poke about, and there's ample scope for them to do that without getting too close to the street. In the backyard, though, there are countless places to race about, on a wide loop, or a shorter one, or darting around or through obstacle courses, or cantering at great speed and exercising feints so one cannot catch the other. Sometimes Jack is in the lead, outrunning Jillie, and sometimes it's the other way around. We keep out of the way.

Often they'll stop long enough to challenge one another to a wrestling match, and each gets up on hind legs using their forelegs to grapple with one another, a very convincing show of flying fur, threatening growls and muzzles busily snapping in a great show of sharp white teeth, biting here and there for maximum advantage.

From the very beginning when we first brought them home to share our house, Jack indulged in leaping effortlessly onto the sofas. He still does that without even requiring a run to hoist him into the air; he simply lifts himself into an elegant arc and he's where he wants to be. Jillie, though, cannot imagine herself being able to make such leaps and she doesn't attempt to. This puts her at a distinct disadvantage when they play, because Jackie can easily get away from her, and she's unable to do anything about it.

He will leap up onto the sofa to tease and taunt her, or to escape the fact that she's gaining the fight-advantage. From his perch above her, he challenges her to try to reach him, and she cannot. She tries tiny leaps, stopping at the edge of the sofa, not believing she has it in her to make the required height to leap on the sofa, and emitting sharp little yelps of frustration, to Jackie's satisfaction.

When they're out racing about in the backyard, free to do as they will, each on occasion sails off on a twisting leap to evade the other, jumping well clear of one another's height, Jillie as skilled at this as Jackie, but she simply doesn't believe in her ability to perform such acrobatics when she's confronted by the need to do so; when it's simply a reaction, it works for her.