Beech Tree News Network

My dog, Scout, was struck and killed on Hwy 231 a couple of weeks ago.  My husband, Garey, buried him next to the grave sites of the other dogs I lost, Joe and Lexie.  Scout’s friend, Tess, from next door came to the funeral—it’s funny how dogs know about things without being told.  Every time I lose a dog, I say I’ll never get another one.  Garey says he wants to wait a good long while before we do.

Scout was my birthday present seven years ago.  After Joe, the bird dog, died, I wanted another dog, because the possums and skunks and groundhogs were running amok in and around the barn, and I knew a good dog would keep them at bay.  Scout was a good dog, but he was a Border collie, which meant he was a herd dog, which meant he had to herd stuff, which meant he did—automobiles—which meant things didn’t work out particularly well for him.

I had quite a few dogs when I was growing up, and I cried myself silly over most of them.  The ones that stand out in my mind are Blackie (killed on the highway); Snowball (disappeared, but have my suspicions that my parents gave him away); Shep (know my parents gave him away); Puppy—yeah, I know, but what do you expect when you let three little girls name a full-grown Labrador—(killed on the highway); and Kate (alas, also killed on the highway). 

I know what you’re thinking,” Get Away From the Highway!”  But I was just a kid, and I couldn’t dictate where we lived.  One of the reasons I’ve always liked where I live now is because it is off the highway, of course that didn’t do Scout any good.  Even dogs that stay out of the road don’t get much time on this earth.  I’ve often wondered why God didn’t give longevity to dogs instead of to those huge land tortoises or those annoying parrots like the one my friend in Texas owned that could and did imitate a smoke alarm, a car alarm and Larry the Cable Guy—“Get-er-done.” 

Even though it hurts me that Scout is gone, I feel even worse for Garey.  Scout was Garey’s little buddy.  Garey can’t even drive through McDonalds now without feeling a pang of loneliness, because that was his and Scout’s thing.  He would load Scout up in the old red and white farm truck and get each of them a sausage biscuit for breakfast.  Garey would get coffee for himself and Scout his own cup of water.  There are people who believe that we will be met at the gates of Heaven by all of the pets that have ever been part of our lives.  If that’s true, Scout will be leading the pack, and you can bet he’ll hit Garey up for his Mickey D’s biscuit right off the bat.

I told Garey that I’ve thought long and hard about what we’re going to name our next dog.  I’ve always believed a name can prove to be prophetic—I don’t know what I was thinking when I named a Border collie “Scout.”  I declared that I want to name our next dog “Easy.”  To which Garey responded, “I don’t care what you name him, I’m gonna call him Homie, and maybe he’ll stay on the place.”  Maybe, he will.