I came to a realization yesterday: Scout was my best friend, but she was also an indispensable member of our household staff. When she got sick, some very important work went undone, because the other dogs either weren’t qualified or hadn’t been cross-trained to do it.
We can’t replace our friend Scout. But there are certain jobs around the house that require the assistance of a terrier. In an office, when a beloved colleague passes away, you mourn your friend, but you still have to fill the opening on your staff.
Here at the House of the Lifted Lorax, things are falling apart. I actually had to mop the kitchen floor last week because it had gotten sticky. In her prime, Scout never would have allowed such a thing to happen. The garage door has gotten cocky — it thinks it can go up and down whenever I press the button, without authorization from anyone else — and the mailman thinks he owns the place.
More importantly, the boys don’t have anyone to boss them around. Jason looks and looks at Scout’s empty chair, and instead of going out this morning when Ron opened the door, he went to the living room to lie down. The boss wasn’t around to give him permission to obey his master, so he just didn’t. Meanwhile, Song is totally confused. He knows something isn’t right, but he can’t put his paw on it, and he’s not sure what to do with all this free time he has now that there’s no one to pester. (Oh, sure, he could tease Jason, but that’s no fun — Jason either ignores him or tells him to back off. Where’s the fun in that? Pointless.)
Ron, who thought he hated Scout in particular and rat terriers in general, has been a little lost, and I’m more or less of a basketcase. Housework is piling up because there’s nobody to knock a pile of clutter directly into my path, stick a snout into a forgotten dish on the coffee table, or pee on the carpet to remind me it’s time to vacuum.
We miss Scout and always will, but it’s become painfully apparent that we cannot function without proper supervision.
With that in mind, we are interviewing an applicant for the position of terrier-in-residence this evening. His name is Riggy, and he is seven months old. Judging from his puppy pictures, he will look like a very small Doberman. His current owner is at a show today (she tells me that Riggy himself has been to a few shows and has accumulated a few points along the way, so he’s a little more sophisticated than the rest of us around here), but we’ll be heading down to meet her and find out about Riggy in a few hours. If his interview is as promising as his resume, I expect we’ll be posting pictures of our new hire in the very near future.