Scratch's Page: 1989-2003
Scratch was a good dog. He lived with us for about 14 years. He got kind of creaky (arthritis) but, up until 3 days before he died, he was still eager to go for his evening walks. Insistent actually. A master of the nose nudge. So, though it would have been nice if he had had a farm to run around on, I think he found his life to be decent enough.
When he was a puppy he just plain refused to be house trained, at least as far as telling us when he needed to go out. Once I punched a hole through the wall to provide him with a doggy door, he was fine. He wasn't dumb, he just had his own way of doing things.
He was a good digger, in his special places. And, as a young dog, there was no way I could roll a ball past him down the hall. It has been several years since we could play that game. But, hey, I'm not so swift myself.
It's the little things that catch me by surprise now. When I find a wad of sandwich bags stuffed in some corner. (I always had them in my pocket for when I took Scratch for a walk.) When it thunders and I realize I no longer have to worry about it making him frantic and forcing him into the basement where he would tear up cardboard boxes. When I come home and have the impulse to yell "Hyo, dog!".
I'll miss him.
