SCRUFFY

It was my son, Brian’s, 12th birthday, and he wanted a dog, so we’d come to the local shelter to see what was available. Brian was taking his time and thinking very carefully. We gave him a little guidance on what qualities to notice, and we all read the forms that were posted on each dog’s kennel, filled out by the family dropping him off. Most had a name, an age, and a suitably sorrowful reason for giving the dog up. The little terrier’s had not been filled in, though, it simply had “DON’T WANT!” scrawled emphatically across the whole form in black felt pen. There was no way of knowing his age, but he appeared to be somewhere between 1 and 5. When Brian went into the kennel and sat down, the little guy came and timidly sat right up against him, then looked up into his eyes longingly with gentle, soulful eyes. He was quiet but not shy; one might have thought he seemed humble and cautiously hopeful.

How could Brian resist? He had a name for him right then: “Scruffy.” He certainly was; “Filthy” would have been a better description.

Scruffy stepped along with such a grateful and penitent attitude when the leash was clipped onto him and Brian led him out to our car, you could have sworn he knew he was being given a precious second lease on life and he was determined to make good this time. But as we pulled out of the parking lot into traffic, Scruffy’s halo must have gotten left behind, for suddenly he became the evil Mr. Hyde. He turned manic- crazily running around the car, barking at anything and everything around him. He was breathing fast and furiously, leaping from one spot to another, jumping on people, scratching things with his overgrown nails; his pungent odor had filled the car, and he was being very, well... “sexually inappropriate," as they say. His very face seemed to have taken on what we can all only describe as a “demonic” sort of expression- the whites of his eyes showed all around his eyeballs, which were bulging out, and his lips were peeled back into a gruesome sort of cadaverous ‘grin’ showing his teeth all the way to the back! I started having powerful second thoughts about this dog.

By the time we made the long drive home, we were anxious to push him out of our car and get some space from him. My husband and I sat on a nearby stump and watched together while Scruffy ran around and explored our few acres. He still had the demonic expression on his face and he now appeared to have either some physical deformity or else his excitement was what had twisted him into a repulsive crouched posture. He looked like the illustration for the expression “junkyard dog.” The kids tried to play with him, but he was uncontrollable. He was industriously marking all this territory as his own as fast as he could manage it.

Dave and I suddenly found ourselves quarreling, “Why on earth, out of all the dogs there, did we have to get THAT dog?!” “What?! I thought YOU were the one who wanted it! I certainly didn’t want that one!”

As I watched him, I couldn’t help juxtaposing this miserable little specimen with some of the noble-looking Golden Retriever types that had been at the shelter. The honest conviction I expressed was that the only way this dog could have been more repulsive than he already was would be if he had had large patches of fur missing from his coat. Somehow it was real easy to picture him that way, too, it would have only been another small step...

Unaware of our thoughts, however, the kids were game; they captured Scruff and took to bathing him. It took 3 scrubbings before the water ran off him clean. Then they combed the matts and tangles out of his fur. It helped... a little.

Scruffy’s first weeks with us were a real learning experience for all of us. He quickly found the location of our garbage cans and helped himself to the contents, spreading them far and wide. And he proved (of course) not to be housebroken, to say the least. He ran out to the road and accosted innocent passers-by. He aggressively roamed the neighborhood as soon as anyone's back was turned, forcing us, time after time, to go trudging after him, muttering under our breath, until we could finally catch him, and carry him back home after a good scolding. Once I thought I’d let Scruff ride down with me to pick the kids up from school, but he was horribly “inappropriate” once again all the way home with the other kids I gave a ride to. He was a constant embarrassment in so many ways. I guess our neighbors had a hard time figuring out what had ever possessed us to bring him home. It appeared we were stuck with a dog that had every possible bad quality a dog can possess. We were novices at dog training and had picked a real character to learn on. Not only was he a typically headstrong and stubborn terrier, but he had been frightened and confused by a lifetime of being punished and abused without ever understanding why.

In his favor, I must say Scruff did not chase cars or chew shoes (except my daughter’s gorilla slippers one time, but that was a case of mistaken identity: he was sure he was protecting the household from a couple dangerous rats.) And those two things were the sum extent of his good characteristics.

The following weeks revealed many interesting idiosyncrasies Scruffy had. He could recognize a gun -any gun- toy, BB, or real- and he was terrified of them all, running and melting into some hiding place at the sight of them. We noticed he ran for shelter from a number of other things as well. The kids found he would panic at almost any small object, if they held it out towards him, particularly anything that made a clicking sound. It became amusing to hold out some harmless object, like a glass of milk, while saying seriously, “Scruffy!” and watch him shrink away in terror. He also bolted for cover at the lighting of a match or the sight of anyone chewing gum. And he was an expert on hiding quickly.

Another intriguing quality Scruffy had was a dread of arguments- at the first suggestion of anyone’s voice being raised, we noticed he would slip over to the stairs and creep quietly up them, pulling in his toenails so that he didn’t make a single click on the wood floor, and he would hide up there until he was sure things had blown over. He wasn’t able to discern, though, whether people were angry or just excited or enthusiastic- any raising of voices, and Scruffy immediately and noiselessly disappeared upstairs. In the midst of many a controversy, the involved persons would stop in amusement to watch Scruff fearfully tiptoeing up the stairs, his eyes firmly fixed on the hallway at the top with a look that seemed to say "Please God! Get me to safety!"

On the other hand, when it came to other animals or dogs, Scruffy was fearless. He had no idea he was just a puny little pipsqueak, and would pick a fight with any dog of any size who dared to come near his territory- for that matter, he went right into other dog’s yards to pick fights, too! We had a neighbor who used to stop by with his huge Rottweiler, and Scruffy would tear out the door if he possibly could, and savagely attack this dog. He had to leap up into the air to reach Gus’s neck in order to bite it, but that didn’t stop him- he would go into a frenzy of leaping and biting. Luckily for Scruffy’s health, Gus just stood there ignoring him, in the same bored way a cow ignores flies buzzing around its head, until we could collar him and get him shut safely inside. One day, Gus disappeared and was never seen again, and the neighbors always joked that Scruffy had no doubt lured him into the woods and done away with him.

But, again, through those first weeks, trying to housebreak Scruffy proved to be the most impossible and frustrating of all tasks. He was obviously familiar with the fact that he would be punished for relieving himself so he was incredibly secretive. We tried to make him understand, but it was almost impossible to catch him in the act and Scruffy just wasn’t ‘getting’ it. He did seem to realize it must be wrong to go in any exact spot he’d been punished for, so he was thoughtful enough to go in a new spot each time, until it seemed every corner of every room in our house had been reached. I had tried every idea I’d ever heard or read about and was beginning to think it was futile and hopeless. I could see exactly what led to that “DON’T WANT” scrawled on his paperwork.

Finally, one afternoon, Scruffy came very close to meeting his maker. Coming out from a relaxing shower, I was arrested by the sight of a strange, large, brownish-orange spot on my newly finished hand-made quilt. As I gazed at it, perplexed as to what in the world it might be, a drop of liquid plopped onto it. I turned my gaze upward and saw that the offensive stuff was dripping from between the tongue and groove boards that made up our ceiling (and the upstairs floor). SCRUFFY! At the end of my rope, I was white-hot with anger this time. I reached the room above, and of course, just as I thought, Scruffy was the perpetrator... apparently he had developed quite a case of diarrhea, just to add to his heinousness. I grabbed Scruffy by the nape of his neck, threw him outside, and slammed the door shut before I could give in to my fervent desire to tear him limb from limb! I was ready to drop him back off at the animal shelter and write “DON’T WANT!” across his paperwork myself, except that, I guess, I am just too stubborn...

When I had had a chance to cool down, I had an inspiration. This was just not working. There had to be a way, if we could just find out what it was. Maybe the library would have a book about housebreaking truly delinquent dogs? So, the kids and I headed to the library and we did find a dog training video as well as a most interesting book, written by a former monk who had worked at a monastery where they trained dogs. He had specialized in the housebreaking of them. For the hardest cases, he recommended what he called “the umbilical cord method.” The dog is kept on a leash, and the leash is kept attached to your belt, at all times. When you go to bed, the leash is attached to the bedpost so he can lie there but with no extra slack for any wandering, and you sleep with one eye open. This way, the dog is not able to slip off for even an instant, and the second he begins to show some anxious behavior indicating that he has to ‘go,’ you are aware and take him directly outside. After he relieves himself outside, you shower him with praise and glory. I said to Brian, “Look, this is your dog, so this will be your responsibility.”

And I kind of pictured him, years later, with Scruffy still tagging along, attached to his belt...

Brian was faithful, and the umbilical cord method proved to be absolute MAGIC! In three days, Scruffy had come to understand the whole concept involved and was completely trained and trustworthy in the house. He did not have even one more ‘accident’. It was just amazing. The trick was in catching him before the crime could even be started, and then in being present and praising and rewarding him liberally when he relieved himself outside- for it turned out poor Scruff had gotten so guilty and confused in his short life, he actually expected to be punished for going outside, too! Poor little guy! He thought the “going” was what was bad. He had no idea it was where you went that counted.

Even after he was sure it was okay to go outside, he continued to be very secretive about the whereabouts, picking circuitous paths into the woods, just to be on the safe side.

That huge improvement made Scruffy a whole lot easier to live with, and a trip to the vet for a little surgery had put an end to his sexually inappropriate behavior overnight, and made him much more tractable overall, and he actually began to be a little bit nice to have around.

The kids were excited about starting on the ‘T.L.C.’ training. First came “sit” and it was hilarious to watch how Scruffy would fight it, doing anything to stay up on all four feet. Yet, when he finally gave up and let himself be pushed into a sitting position and received praise and a treat a few times (the way to Scruff’s mind was definitely through his stomach), a light bulb began to illumine his shady little brain, and you could see it happen. It was like he said to himself, “I GET IT NOW! You do things they want, and THEY ARE HAPPY WITH YOU! Eureka!”

After mastering sitting, Scruffy profoundly changed. His eyes seemed to gain a new dimension of intelligence in their expression. He even lost his ‘demonic’ look and hunched posture, and began to look happy, proud, and relaxed though alert. It was the turning point in his life- Scruffy had been reborn. He was no longer a guilt-ridden fugitive from justice; he was an able, worthwhile member of society.

He now proved to actually be a very bright little dog. He went on to eagerly learn one more trick after another, until he could roll over, play dead, speak (in bark OR growl, on command), jump onto a stool and stand on his hind legs, ‘walk’ on his hind legs, and lots of other amusing things. He was anxious to do whatever would please, and he loved to demonstrate all his tricks. He had learned that he could please people, and he was proud of himself.

He learned to ‘shake’ in an amusing way- he was very sensitive about his paws being touched, so he would hold his paw up, but keep it real close to his side, reaching his nose out further and licking your hand, with a look that said “I hope you will accept this instead.” If you insisted, though, he would reluctantly shake with his paw.

We always thought it was humorous how, if Scruffy smelled one of his favorite treats, he would get so eager, he would fling himself into performing all the tricks he knew, in fast rotation.

Well, as the years passed by, Scruffy turned into the most faithful, loyal, and affectionate little companion anyone could ever ask for. The most amazing thing about Scruffy -and perhaps we read it in, but I don’t think so- was that he always seemed to understand things. It was the wierdest feeling you would get from him. Somehow it showed in his expressive eyes. Now, he seemed to know that we had helped him turn his life around, and in return he gave us his steadfast affection, loyalty, and trust. He took up a station on one stair where he could see out the window to stand guard over the house, and kept a faithful vigil. We put a little piece of carpet there for him. Every day when the school bus was due, I would say to him “Where’s the kids?” and he would run to his spot and watch for the bus, quivering with anticipation. (The funny thing was, you could say that when the kids were all at home, and he would still run to watch for the bus- I guess a few of his circuits never did get connected...)

Although he was officially Brian’s dog, he tended to favor my daughter and I, which was a little traitorous of him, but he liked the ladies best. He was fair-minded, though- he used to spend a part of each night sleeping with each one of the kids. Once he got comfortable, he would stretch his legs straight out and try to push them off their own bed, and then would growl when they pushed him back over- in his funny, harmless, soprano growl. He loved having visitors and houseguests, and, if they were willing, he’d always try to spend part of the night with them as well.

He used to crack me up when I’d go upstairs to do housework, and he’d be stretched out on one of the kids’ beds with his head on the pillow, just like a little person. Only his eyes would roll upward to mine, pleading, “I don’t have to get down, do I?”

He had such humorous quirks. He loved to play, especially to grab one of his toys -all of which were called ‘bone’ to him- and have you ‘chase’ him. His biggest thrill in life was to be chased, yet he was smart enough to know the difference between what was play and what was serious. We’d say, “Where’s your bone?” and he’d dash to grab whatever toy was handy. One time, I had left some light dumbbells sitting out, and he grabbed one of those by mistake- it was so heavy for him, he went in slow motion as he tried to run with it and shake it from side to side, but he hung onto it. If you weren’t being very energetic about chasing him, he would come up and teasingly parade back and forth right in front of you, brushing his bone against your hand to tempt you back into the chase.

Scruff never lost his fear of guns and loud noises. Every lightening storm and Fourth of July was an ordeal for him- he would wander the house in terror, trying one spot after another to hide and feel safe, but never content with any one. He even once pawed the refrigerator, wanting me to let him in there!

His fearfulness at harmless things and bravado toward things that really could hurt him were such an amusing and endearing paradox. Sometimes we’d notice Scruffy was missing, and a quick look around would reveal him hiding under the computer desk, facing tightly into the corner, shivering with fear. In this way we knew that somewhere, someone in the house was chewing gum.

Scruff had a sense about when someone was sad and needed comfort. If any of the kids were crying in their rooms over something, Scruffy would give me a serious and meaningful look, and then head straight up, on a mission. He was lavish with his comfort. I’ll never forget the spring that my sister died. Many times I found myself sitting lost in a daze of grief, only to be prodded gently out of it by his comforting, cold, wet nose nudging my leg in the friendliest way. He would rest his head on my knee and gaze up at me, his tail wagging quietly. When you looked into those soft brown eyes of his, you could swear he understood just exactly what was going on.

Though he was macho and assertive with the guys, for my daughter he was a total sap. He lived for the moments she was home. She’d dress him up in clothes and bonnets she sewed him and push him around in a doll buggy. He just ate it up. In fact, I think he really enjoyed playing the part of a human baby. Maybe he even thought he was one. He obligingly put up with everything. He’d just go limp with happiness. He’d even sleep outdoors with her when she’d “camp out” on our property. This was a lot for Scruff because... he was afraid of the dark. Whenever he was outdoors with the rest of us, around twilight he’d get nervous and pace back and forth between us and the house, finally abandoning us to wait safely right beside the door until we came to our senses and headed inside. He braved it for Christie, though, even though he was so scared, he’d crawl into her sleeping bag as soon as twilight fell, creeping all the way to the very bottom, and would not come back out until morning.

Scruffy was the most forgiving and loyal of friends. He adored my daughter right through her teenage angst, although her frank expressions of anger often drove him upstairs for cover. Once or twice, Scruffy was unfortunate enough to be the closest one in proximity during those moments and felt the sting, literally. When the storm had passed, though, he was right by her side again, as adoring as ever. I learned a lot about love and forgiveness from Scruffy. And I also learned from him that there is always hope for those who might seem hopeless, that hidden under an unappealing exterior may be a heart of pure gold, and that “an old dog” certainly can “learn new tricks.”

Every so often, at a rare moment, Scruffy would revert to his old “demonic” persona. Someone would say, “Hey, look at Scruff! He’s being ‘demon-dog’ again!” and, sure enough, we’d look over and he’d be breathing hard, have that guilty crouched posture, and the weird, cadaverous grin. It seemed to happen when he was contemplating committing some sin like dragging a deer carcass he could smell out of the woods and getting sick on it, but he always managed to win the struggle with old Mr. Hyde eventually.

The years passed by, the kids grew up and left home, and it became me and Scruffy most of the time. He was the greatest friend and companion I could ever have asked for. He stayed near me wherever I went, gave me a forlorn and sorrowful goodbye every time I left, and the most heartfelt welcome whenever I returned. If I had brought him home a little something in the way of a dog treat, he was joyful beyond measure. One quirk was, he always had to come and rest his head on my foot, wherever I might be, and wherever my foot might be- if I was leaning back in the recliner, he’d stand on his hind legs and really stretch so as to get his chin up onto my foot. It reminded me of some sort of chivalrous proclamation of loyalty and duty to one’s queen. Oftentimes I would think of the people who had abandoned him with that “DON’T WANT” - if only they knew what a treasure they had missed out on. And Scruffy was so much more of a treasure because of where he had started from. He had depth.

Scruffy had gradually grown silver with age and could no longer play a vigorous tug of war or run very fast for long, when our life, which had grown so quiet and comfortable, changed dramatically. All three of my children had moved out of town within a few months and I was really grieving their loss, and simultaneously we had decided to take in a 9 yr old boy who had had a very troubled life and needed some help.

I’ll never forget one disheartening day when, as usual, Scruffy seemed to understand exactly what was going on. Things were very difficult for a while, while we sorted out the little guy’s behaviors and learned how to parent him and make the adjustments in our life that were needed. After a particularly challenging day, I had a moment to myself and sat down to rest and recupe. Scruff was seated on his step a few feet away and as I glanced over, I found he was fervently gazing into my eyes, and his were so clearly and sharply mirroring exactly what I was feeling, that I was startled. He seemed to be crying out, “What happened to our life?!” and I realized his quiet and comfort had been jarred as much as mine. As I felt him share my difficult grieving and adjusting through those incredibly empathic eyes of his, I just burst into tears. He was always there, my faithful friend, always comforting.

Though he was well up in years and his heart was becoming weak, Scruffy seemed to feel a strong sense that it was his duty to be the dog of any child in the house, and he was faithful. One of the results of our foster son’s troubled life was that he had a great deal of difficulty giving and receiving affection, but this didn’t stop Scruffy. He now had a school bus to wait for every day again and a child to bound out to greet by joyfully barking and flinging himself into the air all around him. Earl had never had a dog and would stand there, blank and confused, kind of like a robot going, “this does not compute.”

“What does he want?” he finally asked me one day. “Oh, he doesn’t want anything, he’s just happy to see you because he likes you,” I explained. He still looked bewildered and I realized he just didn’t know how to respond, so I taught him how to pet Scruffy and where to scratch his ears so he liked it. Scruffy was so patient with his awkward hands. He got in the habit of hopping up on the couch to snuggle with him, guarded him zealously when Dave became a ‘monster’ and tried to ‘get’ him, and he began to spend part of most nights sleeping with him, as had been his habit when our kids were young (even pulling the same stunt of trying to stretch out and take up the whole bed, and growling harmlessly when he was pushed back over). He had been part of our household for 9 years and now became what was needed- a therapy dog. And he did a faithful job of it, right to the end.

In his final months, Scruffy’s heart was too weak to allow much exertion, and his medication did not work as fully as we would have wished. He would cough and have difficulty breathing just from walking across a room. Each day when Earl arrived home from school, Scruff still faithfully came to greet him, though all he could do was stand against his legs and cough his greetings. In the middle of one night, I heard a great deal of coughing and got up to see what was happening. Scruff had been heading upstairs to spend part of his night, but this time it was too difficult to make it all the way to the top, so he stood frozen halfway up the stairs, stuck and coughing. He reluctantly allowed me to carry him back down and place him on his pillow in our room.

In his final days, Scruffy and I both knew he was dying. I could see it in his eyes, and I believe he could see the sorrow in mine. Sometimes he would come and stand next to me, gently leaning against me. I would scoop him up and plead, “Oh, Scruffy, please don’t leave me,” knowing that, of course, he must, and he would gaze at me with his kind, all knowing eyes, which now showed that, though he was weary and ready for his final rest, he had sympathy for me.

The morning of the day he died was a beautiful warm spring day and I had the front door open and was sitting on the porch steps enjoying the gentle breeze. A few deer were grazing in the lower part of our property. When Scruffy came out, for just a moment his aged posture transformed from the weary old dog, to a young, alert, indignant sentinel, and he barked a sharp warning to these intruders. Then, suddenly weary again, he relaxed against me and I held him close. “Oh, Scruffy, don’t leave me,” I couldn’t help sighing, though his eyes told me he must.

It was not much later that, in my arms, his body gently relaxed into a blissful state of peace for good. I was surprised that it felt good to see him so peaceful and relaxed after the last weeks of restless struggling for his breath. I hadn’t realized how hard it must have been for him, for he was not one to complain about difficulty. It was only through the contrast of his former with his now relaxed state that I fully realized how hard he had been laboring every moment.

When the school bus arrived, we told Earl the sad news and we all held an appropriate funeral that evening, for the honor Scruffy deserved. I can see the spot where we buried him from my kitchen window and it feels good to know it is there. We found a large heart-shaped rock and a fitting rusty tin sculpture of a happy dog with flapping ears to mark the spot.

The little guy told me that night that it had been “the saddest day of his entire life”- quite a statement for a child who has had to endure far more profound griefs and losses than the death of a dog. He truly grieved over Scruffy, a very good indication in a child with his difficulties, and evidence that Scruffy’s therapy, his final faithfulness, had had an effect.

Later that day, my husband said to me, “I know this probably sounds funny, but did you ever notice that when you looked into Scruffy’s eyes, he always seemed as if he knew exactly what was going on?”