Mister Scott
My husband did not want a dog. I was a newly married wife with three young stepsons who lived with us half of every week and he felt that was enough responsibility in our lives. In fact, as I recall, when I started asking him if we could get a dog, his response was, “We can barely keep up with what is on our plates now. Why would we add a child that craps in the backyard to this mix.”
I really wanted a dog though, enough so that we argued about it. I felt like I needed something to love all week long that needed me, I missed the kids when they went to their mother’s house.
One day, about four years of me wanting a dog and getting shut down later, the boys came running in the house and begged me to come outside. They were so excited. They’d found a lost dog and wanted to know if we could keep him. When I went out, I saw our boys and the neighborhood kids who all spent most of every afternoon eating me out of house and home and watching cartoons at my place, holding a small rope tied loosely around the neck of a sad looking wreck of a dog. He was black, smallish and covered in dirty, matted hair was in dreadlocks. The pads of his feet were abraded and frankly, he wasn’t much to look at. I brought him in, gave him what was apparently some much needed food and water.
“Don’t even think about it. We’re not keeping him.” Mike said.
“Fine,” I shrugged, as I petted the little dog who looked up at me with soulful brown eyes. “I’m just going to get him cleaned up, see if anyone lost him and if not. I’ll find him a new home.”
“Take him to the pound.” My husband said, in an irritated voice.
I refused. I’d read that the shelter was euthanizing dogs after only a couple days stay, they had so many strays. Mike was not pleased but I would not be swayed. I felt like I was supposed to do this. Save this dog. And maybe….I’d get to keep him. God knows he needed some love and attention as well as some seriously needed soap and water.
A few hours later I went outside and realized Mike had given the dog a bath and a haircut. The little dog was running around the house like he’d just been given an adrenalin shot. He zoomed around the furniture, danced on his back legs and then ran in circles around the living room and kitchen. He’s run up to Mike, butt him gently on the leg with his head, run to me, sniff my hand and then take off running circles around us all over again.
“I think he likes it.” Mike said, kind of amazed. “Being clean. I’ll bet he’s been lost and on the road a long time.” The dog looked about ten years younger. He did look a little like a rat. And with all his hair cut short he had the most adorable bowed front legs, and a lower fang stuck out of his mouth, like his lips couldn’t quite get around it.
“You shouldn’t have cut his nose whiskers so short.” I commented. “I think he might be part Scotty Terrier and he needs his whiskers. With out them, he looks amazingly rat like. But sweet.” Mike agreed. He said, “We’re not keeping him, but as long as he’s here I guess we should name him.”
He started called the dog” Scott.”I took him naming the dog as a good sign. However Mike kept insisting we had to find Scott another home. We put up signs around the neighborhood, nobody claimed him. Five days later, he crawled under the fence into our neighbor’s yard and their Rottweiler mauled our little guest. It was horrific and we felt terrible. Luckily we had a friend who was a vet or else it would have cost us a small fortune or we’d have had to put him to sleep. The night we brought him home from the vet, Mike said almost defensively as if he thought I’d argue with him about it, “If he lives, we’re keeping him.” I would have smiled but I was too busy sitting beside Scott on the floor in front of the fire place, in the little bed we’d made him, willing him to live.
During his recuperation, something shifted in Mike’s heart. He took to calling the dog, “Mister Scott”, or “the Senor.” I asked why, and Mike said in full seriousness. “He’s just too dignified to not give him a respectful name. He’s like one of the guys.”
Scott became a member of the family. He went on road trips with us, slept on the foot of the bed, went to work with Mike and was an excellent fellow in all regards. He had this crazy charisma, beautiful young women would want to hold him and kiss him, big burly men would want him to be their best friend. Mike kept saying he thought Scott was a reincarnated little old man.
“I think he’s a bodhisattva. He chose to come back as a dog this time.” Mike would say. I was never really sure if Mike was joking or not. Scott was amazing though. He never licked your face, or really misbehaved, he was just one of the gang. Everywhere we took him, Mister Scott was incredibly popular.
There were some bumps in the love story however. One time Mike called me, sounding terrified. “I’ve lost him.”
“What? Where are you?”
“I took him over to John’s warehouse and I turned my back and he was gone.”
“Keep looking. I’ll go get my car and drive downtown and help you. We’ll find him.” I tried to reassure Mike. He sounded like he was having a panic attack. Scott was such an integral part of our lives by this point; it would have felt like losing a limb. I was throwing on a coat and running out to the car to help join the search when I got a call from Mike.
“I found him!” He sounded out of breath but exultant.
“Where was he?” I asked , sitting in my car with the engine running.
“You’re not going to believe this. I was walking down the street calling his name, and I came by ‘The Round Corner Bar.’ There were some people outside, smoking and they asked if I was looking for a little, black, Scotty dog. I told them yes, and they said, ‘He’s in the bar.’
“Wait, what? Scott was in the bar?”
“Yeah. Not just in the bar. At the bar, sitting on a barstool, drinking a beer out of a bowl surrounded by a bunch of pretty girls, and some biker dudes, who were making a big fuss over him and buying him drinks. I probably should have yelled at them for giving our dog a beer, but for all I know, he Jedi mind tricked them into pouring him a cold one. He’s tried it on me before but I tell him no. “
I turned my car off and started laughing. “You’re telling me, our dog ran away and is hanging out at the bar getting drunk?”
“Yup. I told you, he’s a reincarnated Little Old Man.”
Scott lived with us for ten years. During that time we adopted another dog, a husky, who he tolerated and kind of cared about but really just put up with. She was a dog. Scott was pretty sure he was more than just a dog and we didn’t disagree.
I’d wake up and he’d have wormed his way between Mike and me, or sometimes he’d have his head on my pillow and be sound asleep. He snored and when he hadn’t had a bath, smelled oddly of stale corn chips. He liked to sniff pretty girls ankles, or sit on Mike’s lap at the pub and hang out with the guys. He never played with the other dogs at the dog park, he’d amble over to some human and I’d find them hugging him, ignoring their own dogs. He liked to ride in the truck with Mike and go anywhere. We took him to the Bonnieville Land Speed races and I’d tie handkerchiefs filled with ice around his neck to keep him cool and he’d sit right beside us in the shade of the easy up, watching the races. We’d sneak him in and out of hotel rooms and he never barked once. When 9/11 happened, I remember sitting on the floor crying for days, watching the news and our dog never left my side, he just sat there with me and comforted me, but deep down…despite the fact that I’m the one who wanted him, fought for him and saved him and Mike came along kicking and screaming, he was always Mike’s best friend.
His passing gutted us. Mike and I buried him in the back yard, and I read a poem Mike wrote about him that we buried in the hole with him. The Husky, Sasha, took her little stuffed animal buried it next to him, and then dug it up and brought it to us, begging us to bring Scott back. Two plus years later and I still tear up just thinking about him. I have pictures framed of him, I miss the little guy so much. I think of our marriage as before Scott, during Scott and two more dogs later, everything is still, after Scott.
We will never have that again, and I guess that is okay. I love our pets that we have now but they really are dogs and Scott was, “The Wee Man.” Every dog we will have will be a rescue, we’re even fostering a dog for someone now. Because somewhere, out there, might be another Mister Scott, and maybe we’ll find him or her, and they’ll enrich our lives as much as he did, or maybe we’ll help someone else find their special pet, and they’ll enrich someone else’s life, but I know I’m a different person for having known Mister Scott and I will miss that damn dog until the day I die. If there is a heaven and he’s not there, then it’s not the place for me because he was a finer human being then most of the people I meet. If you can, please consider making a donation to the cause, because the money goes to train and support assistance dogs. believe me, they are worth saving, because they can actually save us. Below is the information about the Fundraiser. I have some books that will be part of a contest I will put up tomorrow, but for today…please read the below information and help raise some money for a wonderful cause.
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Hello Everyone! We have a total of 59 blogs that have gotten together to help raise money for a great cause. There are going to be some awesome prizes up for grabs for people that donate money to the cause. Here is a little about the company that we are raising the money for:
Paws With A Cause® enhances the independence and quality of life for people with disabilities nationally through custom-trained Assistance Dogs.
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We have 2 $65 gift certificates to any online book store.
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What a wonderful sharing. It is amazing how much joy and love these paws bring to our lives. Our family friend passed about a year ago and she has been missed everyday. Thank you for participating in the effort to bring more awareness to this awesome cause.
Dear Denise,
Thank you so much for writing a comment. It meant a lot to me. Dogs are so loving and such great companions. I love most animals but dogs are my favorite species, including humans. Especially humans actually (:
What a lovely story. Unfortunately, there’s no way to keep dogs around forever, so there is always loss in the end, but it sounds like you have wonderful memories of Mr. Scott. I envy you at least being able to have pets. I’m wildly allergic to cats (my favorites) and somewhat allergic to dogs, so I can’t have any animals and I really miss them. Thanks for supporting this cause. I just made a donation.