What Scooby Do Now

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To: those of you who live near or around the main interstate freeway from Weed, California to San Diego, California.

 

I mean no disrespect.

 

I am sure there are some who love where they live so much, they do all of their shopping online so they never have to leave their home.

 

But I am also sure that even those who like in the San Joaquin Valley would think it insane to throw one’s Beloved Spouse and one’s psychotic Jack Russell Terrier in a small car and drive up and down The Five on purpose.

 

Yet, that is exactly what I did.

 

Scooby, the JRT, has always been “off.”  That can happen with rescue pets.  

 

But now he is clearly sliding off the edge of what little sanity he ever possessed.  

 

I think it was the combination of turning the big “one-oh” last year, picking a fight with a neighbor’s pitbull that nearly proved fatal and losing his last yard mate in December which left him an only dog for the first time in his life.

 

Now, he is my shadow and I have to lock the door to obtain the necessary privacy for potty time.  

 

He has never been a nice dog but it is more than that.  He’ll beg to be petted but then will growl and nip without warning.  He usually doesn’t do that with me because at the first sign, I will tell him in no uncertain terms: “I am bigger than you and meaner than you.  Don’t push it, little dog.”

 

And then he decides he’ll let it go This Time.

 

I traveled to San Diego recently and I had to choose between boarding Scooby, leaving him with my kids or taking him with me.  

 

He went with me.

 

At just about every stop the conversation would go as follows:

 

“Is that one of them Jack Russell dawgs?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Or is it a Jack Daniel’s dog?”

 

“That is SO funny!  I’ve never heard that one before.”

 

“They’re supposed to be really smart dogs.”

 

“He can be.”

 

“Is he nice?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh, all dogs like me...”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Scooby can be smart.  He knows how to put down his window in the car and even if I lock the windows, I can still hear his nails as he clicks the button.  

 

He knows if we are driving through urban or wooded areas, it is extremely unlikely we will pass any cows and it is safe to take a nap.

 

As many know, Scooby’s greatest enemy in life is cows.

 

I have no idea why.

 

Sometimes he’ll bark at horses since with all that hair they might be hippy cows. 

 

But, not always.

 

Sheep?  No. 

 

Goats?  Please. 

 

Other dogs?  Only if Scooby and the other dog are in separate cars and there is no possibility of contact.

 

See?  He can be smart.

 

That pitbull nearly killed him but when we walked past her the other day, Scooby still strained at his leash to show he was a macho, macho man.

 

Macho, maybe, but not smart.

 

Cows receive his greatest wrath. After four days (two each way) of driving through livestock areas that extend for miles at a time, I can truthfully say that Scooby barked at each and every one of them.  

 

It was slightly more interesting than Bug-Splatter Bingo, my usual pastime, but not by much.

 

The cows did not seem to be insulted by Scooby’s audio attacks but that seemed to rile up Scooby even more.

 

The families in San Diego met Scooby and after we apologized, we were able to visit while he napped.  

 

Now, you will find this funny.  Certain family members of mine believed a dog should obey its owner.  

 

I told you it was amusing.

 

And maybe that is a possibility if you have a normal dog.  I’ve never owned one so I wouldn’t know.

 

I had a dog growing up but she was rarely allowed inside the house.  The only possibility was for her to sit on my dad’s lap but that was it.  Mom would not allow anything more than that.  Animals belonged outside and if we wanted to see them, we had to go out and we had better remember to wash our hands afterwards or we would surely die from dog germs.

 

They would regularly break into the news coverage of the Vietnam War to report on that day’s list of fatalities which were caused by the failure to wash one’s hands after playing with a dog.

 

But, Mom is gone now.

 

Shortly after we arrived at my dad’s house, Scooby claimed a chair in the living room as his nap place.

 

My sister tried to sit in the chair but my little dog stood there and gave her a Look that gave her pause.  My sister, the retired cop, paused before a determined little psychotic dog.

 

That pause was enough for him to make his move to jump up and claim his throne.

 

All of that was funny enough.  But the fact that his chosen place of repose was Mom’s chair left us laughing out loud.

 

Smart?  Maybe. 

 

Spiteful?  Definitely. 

 

But somewhere in the mix of Scooby’s little mind is a whole lot of crazy.

 

 

 

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