Scruffy Speaks

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2010 Susan Schaffner. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 5/20/2010

ISBN: 9781449097073 (ebk)

ISBN: 978-1-4490-9706-6 (sc)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

INTRODUCTION

TOMATO JUICE ANYONE?

THE MANGY POLECAT ASKED!

NOVEMBER 14

NOVEMBER 15

NOVEMBER 16

NOVEMBER 17

PLEASE, DON’T CALL ME PLATO!

DAY ONE

MAY 3

DAY TWO

MAY 4

DAY THREE

MAY 5

MY SIDE OF THE STORY

THE MUTE MUTT MUTTERED,

WHAT HAPPENED TO MY VOICE?

JUNE

DAY ONE

DAY TWO

DAY THREE

DAY FOUR

DAY FIVE

IS IT A DOG’S LIFE? YOU BET IT IS!

AYE, I SPILT BLOOD FOR A NOBLE CAUSE!

DON’T LOOK AT ME! I DIDN’T DO IT!

MY RAMBLING RUMINATIONS TO LIVE AND GROW BY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS / AFTERWARD

INTRODUCTION

I first met Susan when my moms, Sharyl and Lynne, hired her to watch over my brothers and me during their summer vacation. Unbeknownst to us, she would become our most doting aunt and her best friend, Ben, our buddy uncle. Over the years, she and Ben have taken care of us when our moms have gone away for weekend junkets or extended summer getaways. In fact, Susan and Ben have stayed with us guys so often, we consider them a part of our family.

Yet at first, Susan wasn’t prepared to meet me—a dog—who could speak and articulate his thoughts. I’ll never forget Lynne and Sharyl’s first long vacation. They planned a family reunion on the east coast and hired Susan to stay with us for two weeks. When Sharyl met with Susan to discuss the procedure—our daily walks and diet, treats, etc.—she withheld mentioning my unique talent. On the morning my moms left, I sat eagerly by the front door, awaiting Susan’s arrival. She was going to bunk in with us guys and assume all the household responsibilities.

My brother Keith was the oldest, and head of the pack. Next came Steve, then Andy. I had joined the fraternity of brothers as a foundling, but I secretly knew that, although my brothers were full-bred Labrador Retrievers, my moms held a special affection for me. Likely because of my dashing demeanor and that I’m a Highland Shepherd—a canine of Scottish extraction.

Anyway, Lynne and Sharyl had admonished me to keep our secret communications within the family. I had tentatively promised that I would. However, I thought Susan would be receptive to my talents. So, I waited for her arrival, my mind whirling with the possibility that she might help me write my memoirs. The idea of telling my stories and documenting my life had been weighing on my mind for years. Knowing that Susan held some skill as a writer, I was primed to let caution fly to the wind and reveal my unlikely human trait to the world.

Around the middle of the afternoon, Susan came to the house and we greeted her with warm enthusiasm. I had the feeling that she was overwhelmed by the four of us dogs, and our two feline brothers, Murray and Tommy. Let’s face it, she had a huge task ahead of her. She kissed all of us on the foreheads, then set about to get her bearings. After the initial reception, we took our places on our assigned beds and eagerly waited for her to hand out the midday treats. When nothing was forthcoming, my brothers encouraged me to take matters in my own paws.

Trotting into the kitchen while Susan unpacked her groceries, I sallied up to the refrigerator and turned on the old charm. With my brown eyes flashing and my teeth gleaming in a broad smile, I looked up at her and spoke.

How about dividing up the eats? I casually asked, eyeing the sliced turkey that she’d brought. I never saw a human female look so startled. Susan grabbed hold of the kitchen counter to steady herself. I thought for a moment that she would swoon and fall to the floor.

What? She managed to say after a moment.

I laughed lightly, trying to dispel her anxiety.

I’d like a slice of that turkey and my brothers would too!

Susan swallowed, closed her eyes, then slowly opened them with a look of astonishment.

Scruffy? Are you actually speaking?

Who else? I replied with an air of levity.

After the shock Susan regained her wits, and as they say on television—the rest is history. During the past five years, she and I have had a wonderful rapport and have chuckled over that first experience. She’s been an indispensable aid in helping me organize my stories and setting them down on paper.

We hope that readers of all ages will find the stories and my travel diary entertaining. This collection, however, is only one dog’s reminiscence of a life well-lived with moms and brothers, aunts, uncles and cousins who’ve played an influential and important part in the life of one, Scruffy MacDuffy.

Tomato juice anyone?

The mangy polecat asked!

I can’t recall when I first noticed our home had been invaded. It was sometime in June, I think, for the temperature was balmy—typical for early summer on the desert. My moms, Sharyl and Lynne, had given me permission to sleep outside in the wide-open spaces. Basically I’m an outdoor guy, so I was excited to have the whole yard as my nighttime domain. I thrive on adventure. So sleeping on my own, guarding my family and house, would keep my instincts’ razor sharp.

Lynne put my bed outside by the pool, gave me a last kiss and closed the door behind her. I watched through the window as she and Sharyl cleaned up the kitchen, then turned off the lights and retired for the night. Keith, Andy and Steve were curled up, already sleeping, but Tommy paced by the sliding glass door, keeping his eyes peeled. Tommy’s a fine feline who loves the night as much as I do.

My first duty would be to comb the perimeter of the yard and ascertain if all was secure for the evening. I do not take my responsibilities lightly, so proceeded to scout from east to west, then from the front gate to the south and fruit gardens to the north. I will interject here that my house sits on nearly an acre of yard, in the hills, south of downtown Palm Springs. It’s a quiet part of town, but one never knows when danger might disrupt the paradise of one’s home.

In the shadows, I walked stealthily toward the east part of the yard. The fresh aroma of newly cut grass filled my nostrils, and suddenly the urge to pee swept over me. After a fast squirt by the mesquite tree, I resumed my duties. The fence was clear of intruders, and as I paced toward the rock terrace, it seemed that all our bothersome rascals—chipmunks and squirrels—had made themselves scarce. Earlier in the spring, Lynne had become enamored of a chipmunk family that lived under the sundeck. She’d invited them to stay while their babies grew to adults. It was an intrusion in my mind, but I didn’t express my opinion.

Past the terrace lays the cactus garden. I love to sit there on the cool ground during the spring and fall. But in the summer, Palm Springs fries. It’s then that I take refuge in the oleanders, or to several spots in the bushes where the shade and sprinklers make temperatures tolerable. On days of scorching heat, I shamefully retreat to the air-conditioned house.

As I walked up the hill, I saw that Sharyl had closed the gate. With that burden relieved, I ambled to the carport to check the locks on the cars. Sharyl’s Landcuiser seemed secure, so did Lynne’s Four Runner. Nothing was amiss under the carport as I scanned the area for varmints. Adjacent to the carport is the woodpile. My moms love a blazing fire in the winter to stave off the cold desert nights. And I have to admit that my brothers and I like the glow of the embers in the fireplace—a glow that harkens back to our primal roots. But the woodpile’s a haven for snakes, so I double-checked it. All clear. I then snapped shut the lids to the garbage cans with my front paws and strolled to the rear of the house, confident that all was secure under the carport.

Whoooo, whoooo! Egbert, the owl, hooted from the neighbor’s oak tree over the fence. For an owl, I liked Egbert, and on occasion found him to be a deterrent to the myriad of small rodents that sometimes infiltrated our area. I waved a friendly paw to the tree, then continued surveying the back fence where the lemon and grapefruit trees grow.

By June the fruit is gone, but the rotting citrus smell still permeates the ground. I find it refreshing and often take short naps under the trees in the afternoons. This night, however, I kept on the prowl. We canines have acute senses, and my nose told me I should stay alert. Circling around the house, I ended back on the east side of the lawn.

Inside the house, Lynne and Sharyl sat in the living room, watching the television. They munched on popcorn, enjoying themselves. As their watchdog, I take pride in providing them with carefree evenings uninterrupted by worries. Being a Highland Shepherd, my creed is honor and duty above pleasure. Squaring my shoulders, I set out to patrol the house one more time before turning in to sleep.

I reconnoitered the yard, and to my satisfaction all was safe and secure. Padding to the pool area, I glanced longingly at my bed. Beside it, Sharyl had filled my water bowl and left a graham cracker as a treat. I chuckled at her thoughtfulness. She must have slipped outside while I was on the far side of the yard.

Unexpectedly hungry from my rounds, I snatched the cracker between my paws and crunched away. The sweet snack was welcome after a long day. With a few slurps of water to wash it down, I jumped on my bed. A slight breeze from the canyon cooled the night. Taking a deep breath, I gave a long contented sigh. Scruff, ole man, I said to myself. Life just doesn’t get any better than this. I closed my eyes, thinking that a peaceful night’s sleep awaited.

* * *

I awoke with my nose twitching, so brushed my paw across my face to keep from sneezing. There was a horrid stench in the air and for a moment I thought Andy was in the yard. My brother has a tendency to break wind, but the vile odor wasn’t from Andy. I rose from my bed,