Scarlett

BEST dog I ever had. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

“The dog and its housekeeping staff reside here,” says a doormat into my house.
The people who kenneled my dog when I took long trips came to my house with my beloved dog’s ashes to help me disperse.
That kennel also cremates dogs, and they loved my dog too.
They also knew how much my dog meant.
They came for moral support, and noticed the doormat.
“I think you should take Scarlett to the park,” the kennel-owner said.
“I thought about that,” I said.
We put the small wooden box of ashes on the passenger-seat of my car.
“Last time,” I said to the dog crying. We headed toward the park.
Past the cows and alpacas along Baker Road. She’d always give them a good talking-to.
Then down Elton Road toward Ionia where we’d occasionally see 200-pound “Flopsie,” in her G-string, bouncing along with her cocker. Scarlett always serenaded them too.
Boughton Park was her favorite place. Me walking her on leash. To her we were hunting.
Sniff-snort! Yank-lurch-BOINK! “I got it, Boss!”
Scarlett was the BEST dog I ever had. Together we survived the tragic death of my best friend, my wife of 44+ years.
“Scarlett did her job,” a friend told me. “She kept you going despite the death of your wife.”
“Yes,” I thought later; “I guess she did.” Feed-the-dog, walk-the-dog, pet-the-dog, let-dog-out, let-dog-in, even at 3 a.m.
I remained Boss-dog, but Scarlett became The Queen.
I let her prewash all plates and pans. I mixed canned meat in her supper. Everything but ice-cream, which made her throw up. And no chocolate = poisonous for dogs.
When she discovered toilets were hydration-stations, I quickly accommodated. Flush immediately after using and before guzzling.
I videoed her slurping out of a toilet, which offended some. Others thought that hilarious. I also started closing toilets around my house.
I never had a dog as spunky as Scarlett. 13 years old, 91 in human years, and she’s chasing a rabbit. I’d let the dog out at 3 a.m., and “where’s the dog?” She’s sniffing around a pallet I have as an improvised step out my garage back-door.
It’s pitch-dark, but take everything apart, then lift pallet in bathrobe and bare feet. She’d snag a mole, a “bite-size bundle of protein.”
“What am I doing at my age bringing home a dog like this?” That was nine years ago; I was 64 at the time.
I promised I’d try my best to give her a good life. After all I was still in pretty good shape, never smoked, no alcohol, and was running back then.
Then my wife died from cancer. Yet Scarlett hung with me. I was a mess for some time. I felt I wasn’t giving her a good life.
Scarlett stayed loyal until the end. She started having seizures, so I took her to Veterinary Specialists & Emergency Services near Rochester. They kept her overnight and stabilized her.
We’d see Scarlett a final time, me and the kennel people. Attendants wheeled her in on a gurney; she looked dead.
The head bobbed up: “Yippee! The Boss is here! I hear him!” In 10 minutes she was sitting on the gurney. 10-15 minutes later she was standing.
“Take me home, Boss. I’ve had it here!”