A Friend in Need

There are days I just know I need to stay close. A look in Her eye, a quieter-than-usual demeanor, even Her smell lets me know when She's having a tough time of it.

I'm not making this up. There is actually scientific research demonstrating that we of the canine persuasion can sense human emotions by sniffing our peeps' sweat! (D’Aniello, B., Semin, G., Alterisio, A., Aria, M., & Scandurra, A. (2017). Inter-species transmission of emotional information via chemo signals: from humans to dogs (Canis lupus familiaris). Animal Cognition, 21(1), 67-78. doi:)

When I sense She's upset, that's when I step in to do my best job being (Wo)man's Best Friend! Sometimes it's as simple as lying nearby. Other times She needs more, so I lay my head on her lap while she's reading. She might not want to be with people but She's always happy to be with me!

When I'm giving the best of myself, it's only a matter of time before She's back to her old rockin' self, and we're chasing toys, doing tricks, and getting treats!

Where Did She Go...?

“Look at how he looks at you, he loves you!”

People say this to Mom all the time when we’re together. I feel like I’m being accused of something, but I think I’m guilty as charged—I do love Her! When we’re together there’s a glint in my eyes and bounce in my trot. Mom is the best because she makes so much time for me. We write, we walk, we play, it’s the best!

Oh, but sometimes, she goes out and I just don’t know what to do. Sam jokes about how I get all mopey when Mom’s not around. I’d tease her about something but… oh, I just can’t take it! When are you coming home Mom?? And where did you go that I couldn’t follow…?

I’m sure she’ll be home in a few hours… Mama always comes back.

Going, going, gone!

It’s like a sixth sense. I can tell when they’re leaving. I don’t like it when they leave even for a few hours. When it’s overnight, it’s like torture.

The wheeled boxes made no appearance last week when they scurried about the kitchen, organizing Her purse, collecting iPhone chargers. Just the same, I had that feeling that this was more than a trip to the grocery store (which I’m often allowed to join!)

I jumped about, dancing, wagging my tail, chasing my toys, doing my most adorable, in the hope that they would take me with them. But, no. The front door opened. The front door closed. And from my perch on my chair at the window, I watched as they drove away.

You may wonder what I do with myself when I’m alone. It’s not pretty. With the run of the house, you might think it’s party time. But there’s no party without my peeps. I miss them like crazy. Last week, I just snuggled into the bed upstairs and mooned over my loneliness.

Whether She’s leaving for an hour or leaving for a day, or even leaving for a week, she always kisses me and tells me, “Don’t worry, Scout. Mama always comes back.”

Thankfully, so far, she has.

Thunder is too Frightening!

As the house security, I have to be a tough guy; there’s not a lot that scares me. I try to be brave, but every now and then something shocks me back to feeling like a little puppy again… I don’t really like thinking about when I was a puppy, I had to grow up fast…

There was a lot of rain this weekend, and with rain comes thunder! The distant rolls of the storm are like a big bark; sometimes the sound of it makes me imagine a big scary dog with a deep booming voice. I don’t really like big dogs either…

While I was cuddling with my Mom on Sunday, the storm had blown directly overhead, and there was a tremendous crack of thunder, way louder than anything we had heard before. There was a bright flash, and I felt like the house was shaking. Immediately I jumped out of bed, and scampered away upstairs. I had to go, I didn’t know where, but that loud noise was way too scary.

Mom called after me, and searched for me in all of my usual spots, but I wouldn’t come out. She found me upstairs hiding in the corner of her office, under a chair. Even when I saw her, I was too scared to move, but she patiently waited for me, calling in a soft voice. Paralyzed, I just whined. I couldn’t budge, so she slowly moved the chair and picked me up. (I appreciate that she didn’t reach in to get me, I think seeing a probing hand reaching towards me would have scared me even more!)

We snuggled for a few hours before I felt like I could walk on my own again. I don’t know, sometimes things just snap you back to a different time. I’m just glad those times are behind me, and whenever I lose control Mom can pull me back to the present.

The Invitation

When I first moved in with Mom, I wasn’t allowed on the furniture. Well, okay, we told everybody I wasn’t allowed on the furniture, and whenever we had company I’d be a good boy, but when it was just Mom and I, she’d pick me up and play with me on the couch… our secret!
I loved couch time so much that eventually I started jumping up on the couch whenever she sat down, but it wasn’t the same.

“Were you invited?” She would ask me.

I would look at her expectantly, my tail wagging as it slowly occurred to me that no, I wasn’t invited, and I’d hop back down. The couch just isn’t as warm if I’m not invited… I’ve gotten better at figuring out when I’m invited though. Sometimes I can even hop up without needing a vocal invitation, but I still like to be sure I’m invited. Something about the invitation makes me feel sure that it’s okay for me to be up there, that there’s a place for me; otherwise, I’m just walking all over people, which isn’t super comfy.

Of course, every now and then I’ll try my luck and hop up on my own. It feels weird, but sometimes Mom lets me get away with it!

What's in a Name?

For a few weeks there, I had no name.

“Here, Boy,” She’d say. “Good Boy.”  

It wasn’t always so. My first family called me Amelio. But then, for reasons I can’t understand, they gave me away. Sure, I messed in the house a little and chewed a shoe or two. I was just a puppy, after all. Talk about no second chances. Before I knew it, I was out.

My second family named me Blaze because I could run like wildfire. I had to. The kids stuck their fingers in my eyes and when I growled my objection, the father whacked me on the snout. It wasn't long until they gave me away, too.

I was kind of scruffy back then….

By the time I was three I’d had two names and three homes and had landed in the custody of Doggie Protective Services. And so I waited in foster care, trotted out at weekend pet fairs, hoping someone nice might come along to rescue me. Competition was steep. There were a lot of rescue dogs to choose from. And by now I had a reputation. No men, no kids were the warnings attached to my adoption papers. I watched as other dogs were adopted, strutting away to their forever homes.

And then one day, She came along. She talked to my foster mom, walked me around the parking lot, sized me up. I really liked her.

 “I’ll take Blaze,” She said.

 “No men in the home?” the boss lady asked. “No children?”

 “No problem,” She said. She looked kind of sad.

The first few weeks at Her house, I had no name.

“Sit, Boy,” She’d say. “Stay, Boy. Good boy.”

Who was Boy?

The house was big and empty. There were a lot of rooms that we never seemed to go in, filled with the faint smells of other people. I slept in a kennel next to Her bed. We walked the block five times a day. She taught me tricks. Sometimes, She cried.

            “Hey, Boy,” She’d greet me in the morning. “Mommy always comes back,” She said whenever she left the house.

And so it went, until one day, snuggling on the sofa watching Her favorite TV show, she cooed, “Hey, Boy, aren’t we lucky we found each other? It sure took you a long time to scout out a good home.”

She looked at me for a moment; something just clicked.

"What do you think about 'Scout'? She smiled and held me close.

That’s how a rescue dog from three homes with two name got his forever name, Scout. As I rested my head on Her cozy lap, I wondered, “Who really rescued whom?”