He’s adorable mostly because he’s not in my house.
I’ve been anti-cat all of my life, but that’s probably because I’m allergic to them – if I get too close to one, my face swells up until I look like a Cabbage Patch Kid that’s taken a bad beating. Eyesight and breathing through my nose become an impossibility until you take the horrible beast away and the Benadryl kicks in.
While I’m not anti-dog per se, Beloved and I, long before we ever became husband and wife, decided we didn’t want any pets. Period. We had more than enough kids, thank you very much – what the heck did we need with something that wouldn’t be able to exploit us in our old age?
However, in the Spring of 2003, Beloved’s younger daughter brought Scooter home and made it clear that if we didn’t let her keep him, she would go throw herself under the wheels of the nearest garbage truck next trash day and we’d all be sorry then. The fact that the rest of the kids were “oohing” and “ahhing” and making a huge fuss over him didn’t help matters a bit, and before we knew it we’d been railroaded into giving room and board to a six-month-old, ten-pound set of teeth.
Because HE. CHEWED. EVERYTHING. If it wasn’t red-hot or nailed down, it was fair game for Scooter. On second thought, being nailed down was no guarantee that he wouldn’t gnaw it loose and rip it to shreds, and as soon as the red-hot items cooled down to oh, 400 F or so, they became at risk as well. Rawhide toys and various other doggie chew deterrents did no good – he’d merely rend them to bits in record time and then return his attention to our shoes, garbage cans, furniture and ankles.
Nor was putting things up where he couldn’t reach them any help, because his short little legs are deceptive and there is no place out of his reach. Counters, tables, desks and appliances were all leapt upon if he felt they might hold something worth investigating, and it wasn’t unusual for us to walk into the family room and find him draped over the back of the sofa, like a cat.
If it weren’t for the fact that he came to us housetrained, I have a sneaking suspicion we’d have spent the next several weeks warning the Euless Department of Sanitation to be on the lookout for a desperate and dogless 11-year-old.
Time has passed and he has outgrown his desire to chew everything in site and jump on every available surface. He’s probably not as well-trained as he should be – he barks at everthing that passes in front of the house (for some reason, bicycles particularly seem to bother him) and he will try to jump on people when they come into the house, although since he weighs all of 16 pounds this isn’t as much of an issue as it would be if he were, say, a Saint Bernard – but his love and adoration for all of us is so obvious that we can’t help but love him back.
We never wanted a Scooter, but we’re glad we’ve got the Scooter.