“His name was Mr. Scot. He was a very small, black Scottish terrier who found us 6 months ago. Yesterday, I held him close, his tiny little body all wrapped up in a soft blanket while our veterinarian injected him with the lethal solution that would bring his fragile life to a close. I miss him. I really miss him. He was only with us a short time and I feel his loss, keep looking for him and finding yet again another layer of tears falling down my cheeks. I expect to feel this deeply, and have, at the death of a dog I’ve lived with for years–this has caught me by surprise…”
“Mr. Scot was a mass of matted, dirty black hair that hung over his eyes and touched the ground. I fed the little guy and made him a place to sleep in the garage while Dan drove the terrified rat to his liberation into the county. Once inside and away from fresh air I got a noseful of this unkempt mess of a dog. I’ll never forget exactly how badly he smelled.
“The next day we discovered he had no collar, no microchip, nothing posted online or locally . . . a homeless, filthy dog. Dan wanted me to take him to the animal shelter that very day. I agreed, and added that no matter what–he needed to get cleaned up. He was too matted and dirty for me to do any good–he needed professional services. A groomer in town could take him that very day. When I dropped him off she said, ‘I’ll make him look like a Scottish Terrier again…’
Hours later when I picked him up I was stunned.”
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