Our dog Scout is a funny a dog as I’ve ever known. If she weren’t such a sweet and affectionate companion we’d have probably killed her because she’s also got all the worst and most stubborn traits of a terrier.
The timing of when we got her wasn’t great. It was early fall. We were just getting ready to head to New England for a vacation and had been expecting the breeder to keep her for a couple of weeks while we were gone. (He’d promised he would.) When we went up to Central Virginia to pick her out, however, he told us this wouldn’t be possible. So she came home with us that day and was with us again as we packed the car a few days later for the 12-hour drive north.
(This was doing the years when we stayed at Witchwood Cottage, which, notwithstanding the skunks, was pet-friendly.)
One of the rituals of our Vineyard vacations is that we hold a cocktail party for the people we’ve gotten to know there over the years. We wondered how Scout would handle the crowd that year, especially since the cottage was small and some of the older male guests were, well, a bit on the grumpy side. But the old fellows ended up fighting over who got to hold the puppy in his lap.
One the way home from vacation, we stopped in New York to visit our daughter and her boyfriend, who in those days spent their Sunday afternoons playing in a Lower East Side street hockey league. One of their team members was the actor/comedian/former SNL star Mike Myers. There was an understanding among team members that you didn’t make a big thing about Mike’s presence. He just wanted to be one of the regular team members. Most people were happy to accommodate this request, so much so that Myers was pretty much left alone when he wasn’t actually playing.
See? No Mike 1, 2005
My wife and I had been forewarned about Myers. I made a special effort not to take any pictures in which he could be seen. All was well until our little Scout decided she was thirsty. Myers noticed that my wife had opened a bottle of water and was leaning over to give some to the dog. Much to the consternation of team members, who were no doubt convinced we’d crossed the line and said something inappropriate, Mike came running across the asphalt to ask his he could help.
“This is one of my favorite things,” he explained as he sat down on the ground and let Scout take her fill from his cupped hands. I don’t know if I quite believe that. But I know that ever since Scout gives us a look of utter disdain whenever she’s reduced to drinking water out of a bowl.
See? No Mike 2, 2005