Here, Scruffy! Scruffy! Scruffy?

Storm almost reclaimed his throne as the dominate pet last weekend. All due to that magnificent ritual of blowing stuff up in the sky known as fireworks. No, this isn't a tale of how I tried to light Scruffy on fire. Instead, it's a story of why it's never good to be running late and proof that my dog is a coward. It also might be proof that I'm not the man of steel that I've made you all believe. Hmmm. . . none of you ever bought that disguise, eh? Must be all the used Kleenex's in my trash can or my special collector's edition DVD of Steel Magnolia. Can't a man feel?

Anyway, this isn't about how I am a wuss. Despite how enjoyable that little game may be for everyone. Tonight, I'm going unravel a yarn about how I almost entered a very Scruffy-less life and realizing that isn't quite what I'm ready for. Even if she always tries to occupy my part of the bed at night!

It's Saturday night and this may shock everyone but Emily and I are running late for a very important date (MI3). Outside, the neighbours are having a jolly time of shooting stuff in the air and watching it explode. Now, that last sentence will seems random but it will come in handy later, so don't forget it. Myself and the girl are rushing out of the house but somebody rushes out the door even faster than us. That somebody happens to be ol' Scruff-eroo. With a week of hindsight, I realize it's completely out of my dog's nature to run out of the house ahead of me. She doesn't do it. She patiently waits to be allowed entrance to the outside world. She didn't do that this night. I wasn't in a reflective mood because I was focused on proving to my girlfriend we were indeed not missing the movie (of course, I turned out to be right! What? You shocked?). As we run out of the backyard, we make sure to close the gate tight so that my loyal dog doesn't follow us to the cinema. Afterall, Scruff doesn't work so she wouldn't have the $7.50 required. Both myself and Emily agreed that Scruff hasn't learned to open the gate yet plus on any normal day, Scruff wouldn't dare wander away from the house. Instead she would run around the backyard, poo in the grass, sniff her new addition to the world and bark to be let inside. Leaving her unattended outside the house wasn't a big deal. Normally.

Problem is, Scruffy didn't run out of the house because she really wanted to see MI3. There was a reason that Scruffy ran ahead of me to get out of the house despite it being something she never does. It's the same reason she wimpers at night when there is a thunderstorm. Same reason I can make her leave the room anytime I make the toy tiger growl. Same reason she'll cuddle up to me at night when she hears thunder outside. The reason? She's a chicken. She doesn't like loud noise. She wants to get as far away from it as possible. Or at least be held in your arms. Nobody bothered to inform Scruff that fireworks wouldn't come to eat her. That same non informer decided to leave her all by herself in the backyard. She decided she wasn't sticking around.

Yes, I did find it odd that she didn't bark at the return of me and Emily. I found it odd that once we were home that she never decided to show her self. I assumed she decided to sleep in someone else's bed maybe because she felt jilted about not being able to see MI3. My emotion changed Sunday morning when I still didn't see my little Scruff despite calling her name throughout the house. It got even more worrisome when nobody seemed to remember sleeping with Scruff the night before. It soon became pretty clear that Scruff decided to take a hike. Except the weather was a little bit cold for hiking and she forgot to pack a coat. This would be the point that I started really missing my doggy. I almost missed that yelp she does every time a stranger comes into the house (to her, not me -- I don't just let random unknowns gallivant throughout the premises.)

This story does have a nice, happy ending. She ended up getting picked up in the morning (poor thing was outside several blocks from our house for 12 hours). She patiently waited at the shelter to be found by her worried and heartbroken neighbours. I have to say, it was quite the uplifting experience to see how excited my doggie was to see me. She desperately tried to leap out of a workers arms while I was forced to go through paper work. She knew who we were. She wanted to come home. Provided of course that we didn't start blowing things up in the kitchen.

My dog doesn't like loud despite being loud. I will never ever again leave my dog in the background and trust the fences to keep her in. I won't under any circumstance find myself running so late. Okay, scatch the third one. I don't deal with miracles.


  1. so how did she get out? Did she REALLY know how to open the gate even though you thought she didn't? Jeez! I'm left hanging here!

  2. ok, it's july. you are bad at the updates, young man.

  3. You know what, I am really not sure how the little bugger found a way out of the backyard. Which is exactly why I didn't bother offering up a reason. I'll just leave it to when there is a will there is a way. That doggie doesn't like the loud noises so she had a lot of 'willing' to get out of that backyard.


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