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It's been three weeks today since we euthanised our beloved Scooter. We miss him terribly, but have finally accepted the fact that it probably was a brain tumor that caused him to suddenly and so viciously attack me that morning and that he would have only gotten worse. Watching him suffer would have been unbearable. Perhaps it's best that the decision was basically taken out of our hands. My physical wounds are healing but my heart still hurts. And even after six years, I awoke every morning like a kid at Christmas. I couldn't wait to see him and he couldn't wait to see me. He'd race down the stairs, down the hall, around the love seat and then peak around the wall to see if I was coming yet. Then he'd do it again when he saw me. Such a goofy, sweet guy.


He was a cute little black and white ball of fur when we brought him home that miserable January evening, almost a year to the day that my mother had died. He panted and drooled as I held him on my lap on the trip home. He never did learn to like riding in the car--he endured it. He would go willingly, but lie down in the back seat, sitting up only to look around when the car came to a stop, or made a turn. It became obvious rather quickly that my visions of him going everywhere with me were not going to materialize.


We had been warned that he probably would whine and cry for the first few nights, but he took to his crate immediately. The first night we had him, he slept right through without a peep. I remember waking up in a panic in the morning because I hadn't heard him.


He was a feisty little thing with oodles of personality. And, he could untie a pair of shoes faster than Houdini. That first year was a bit of a blur. Potty training was a breeze. We were always amazed at how fast he learned a new command or a new game. He was quite the party animal too, which was a good thing because at the time, we still had lots of family and since we had the biggest house, everyone gathered here. To him, the more people, the better. He loved children and was very patient and gentle with them; something else I'd been told he might be snippy about but never was.


He was unflappable. Storms? No biggy. He'd sleep right through them. Fireworks? Yawn. Vacuum? I usually had to tell him to move. Counter surfer? Nope. I could have an island full of food and he'd never even try to see what was up there. Trash? What was that? Christmas trees and gifts? No interest, although he always knew when we hung his stocking on the fireplace and would sniff and look longingly at it till we finally got it down on Christmas morning and let him get all the goodies out. Terry is a chocoholic, but Scooter learned very early on that candy was not for him. All we had to do was say, "Chocolate" and he'd turn and walk away.


On walks, if another dog rushed at him, he'd simply lie down and ignore them; something he just did on his own one day when a Boxer came barreling at us out of nowhere.


We had an almost inexplicable bond. Maybe it's because we shared the same birthday. What were the chances? He was so sensitive to my moods. If I was agitated with the computer, he'd be right there, trying to help. He could be anywhere in the house and if I shed a tear (like when my father died), he came running to comfort me. I swear he heard them running down my cheeks. There was something almost eerie about him at times. He knew things. I can't quite explain it, but it was like he was born knowing what to do. And just as he knew things, for some reason I always knew he would not live to be a ripe old age.


He taught us as many things as we taught him. He taught us that there really was such a thing as unconditional love. He taught us to chill out and be goofy. I am no longer a neat freak. :rolleyes: And he taught us something I thought I'd already learned--life is short and you need to make the most of every day, because we aren't promised another tomorrow. On that fateful morning, just the two of us, he hugged me and kissed my face and was gone. He hung in there as long as he could and I know he didn't mean to hurt me. We shared a love that not everyone has a chance to experience and I wouldn't have traded those six years of my life with him for anything.


I always said he was my gift from God and I still believe that.


Rest in peace sweet Scooter.

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What a beautiful, glorious tribute to sweet Scooter. I've tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat, as well. I'm so glad the joy of his being is, slowly but surely, eroding the pain of his passing. He was your gift and your blessing, and I'm only sorry his leave-taking was not gentler. But as you say, he hung on as long as he could, and his last message to you was that hug.


Peace to you and to his blessed memory.




(Going to hug my own dogs, now.)

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That was a lovely tribute. I haven't been on the boards much lately and just caught up on Scooter's tragic story. I can't imagine the emotional toll that has been on you and my heart goes out to you and your family.

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  • 2 months later...

So this is where we part, my friend,

And you'll run on, around the bend,

Gone from sight, but not from mind,

New pleasures there you'll surely find.


I will go on. I'll find the strength.

Life measures quality, not its length.

One long embrace before you leave,

Share one last look, before I grieve.


There were others, that much is true,

But they be they, and they aren't you.

And I, fair, impartial, or so I thought,

Will remember well all you've taught.


Your place I'll hold, you will be missed,

The fur I stroked, the nose I kissed.

And as you journey to your final rest,

Take this with you....I loved you best.


~ Author Unknown


Vaya con Dios, Scooter.

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