It has been far too long.
In all honesty, dread has overcome me every time I started to write. But, there is none more deserving of a heartfelt tribute, so I should muster the courage and write. What could possibly have derailed someone as verbose as I, you ask?
On June 22, 2010, the guard was passed at Stillwaters Farm. At the age of 12 and a half, Skooter, our faithful and much-beloved rottweiller, passed quietly in his sleep. Being the original animal of our family, Skooter has held a place of high esteem and adoration in our hearts and minds for the majority of the time that we've been a family.
Skooter's day started like most days--a barkfest over his morning breakfast. Biscuit, his paddock mate, always delighted in aggravating a good half-hour's worth of barks out of Skooter as he threatened to take away the dish of leftovers that Skooter had grown accustomed to in his old age. The leftovers, you see, were much easier to eat for an old fellow left with little more than reminders of where his teeth had once been. With breakfast finished, the dish licked clean, and Biscuit reminded that he is not entitled to savory steak bits and chicken scraps, Skooter embarked on his morning's activity--scooting his "stick". The 4"x4" piece of wood, more than two and a half feet in length, was the object of Skooter's obsession for the rest of the morning. Inside his house, Skooter scooted the stick hard into the walls--an activity that necessitated the rebuilding of the dog house at least three times over his lifetime. Outside on the dirt, the scooting continued, much to the chagrin of grass and weeds--or any ankles--lurking in the vicinity. Nothing could deter Skooter from his task--to scoot the stick and bark at it if it went astray.
Once the heat of the day had built, it was time for Skooter to settle down and find a cool spot in the dirt to lay his head. An old fellow is entitled to his daily nap. And, there it was--between his dog house and the fence in the shadows of early afternoon, that Skooter drew his final breath. Always the gentleman, Skooter made no fuss. He garnered no attention. He just quietly slipped away in his peaceful slumber and left us with fond memories. I know this was the case, as it was always the case with Skooter. No great fanfare, no drama, no fuss. Just a simple dog, with his simple stick, happy in his simple life. Oh, that we could all be like him! Satisfied with the simplest of things.
On June 23, 2010, a piece of my heart was buried in the warm Tennessee soil along with Skooter. And while Bandit is doing a very nice job stepping in as the leader of the dog band, there will never be another Skooter. And it is right that there never should be.
We miss you, sweet and faithful friend.
In all honesty, dread has overcome me every time I started to write. But, there is none more deserving of a heartfelt tribute, so I should muster the courage and write. What could possibly have derailed someone as verbose as I, you ask?
On June 22, 2010, the guard was passed at Stillwaters Farm. At the age of 12 and a half, Skooter, our faithful and much-beloved rottweiller, passed quietly in his sleep. Being the original animal of our family, Skooter has held a place of high esteem and adoration in our hearts and minds for the majority of the time that we've been a family.
Skooter's day started like most days--a barkfest over his morning breakfast. Biscuit, his paddock mate, always delighted in aggravating a good half-hour's worth of barks out of Skooter as he threatened to take away the dish of leftovers that Skooter had grown accustomed to in his old age. The leftovers, you see, were much easier to eat for an old fellow left with little more than reminders of where his teeth had once been. With breakfast finished, the dish licked clean, and Biscuit reminded that he is not entitled to savory steak bits and chicken scraps, Skooter embarked on his morning's activity--scooting his "stick". The 4"x4" piece of wood, more than two and a half feet in length, was the object of Skooter's obsession for the rest of the morning. Inside his house, Skooter scooted the stick hard into the walls--an activity that necessitated the rebuilding of the dog house at least three times over his lifetime. Outside on the dirt, the scooting continued, much to the chagrin of grass and weeds--or any ankles--lurking in the vicinity. Nothing could deter Skooter from his task--to scoot the stick and bark at it if it went astray.
Once the heat of the day had built, it was time for Skooter to settle down and find a cool spot in the dirt to lay his head. An old fellow is entitled to his daily nap. And, there it was--between his dog house and the fence in the shadows of early afternoon, that Skooter drew his final breath. Always the gentleman, Skooter made no fuss. He garnered no attention. He just quietly slipped away in his peaceful slumber and left us with fond memories. I know this was the case, as it was always the case with Skooter. No great fanfare, no drama, no fuss. Just a simple dog, with his simple stick, happy in his simple life. Oh, that we could all be like him! Satisfied with the simplest of things.
On June 23, 2010, a piece of my heart was buried in the warm Tennessee soil along with Skooter. And while Bandit is doing a very nice job stepping in as the leader of the dog band, there will never be another Skooter. And it is right that there never should be.
We miss you, sweet and faithful friend.
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