The Story of Me #2 : Scampie, a real boy's dog

Scampie was a real boy's dog.

He chased rabbits, he defended me in fights and he raced me until he could race no more.

Scampie was my one and only dog.

He was the best sort of dog. A mongrel, a mixed bag, part greyhound, part retriever part any other dog on the block.

This cool dog came into my life when I was seven. I found him taking refuge behind our garden shed. He was about six months old.

I wanted a dog and here was one landed in my lap like mannie from heaven.

My dad was not so keen. Now I'm a parent I know the story about pets. Children love them, they will cherish and nuture them. But it is always the dad that ends up looking after them.

So my dad reported the dog to the police. They asked if we would mind looking after the dog until the owner turned up to collect him.

If the dog wasn't collected in 7 days we could keep him if we wanted to, the neighbourly constable informed us.

That was a crazy, hazy seven days. With every knock on the door I feared for the worse. But no one came to claim him.

Scampie became my very first dog, and thus began fifteen years of fun, adventure and mutual admiration.

Scampie was a lovable rogue from the get-go. He loved to explore and get in scrapes.

In those days, in the suburban sixties the local grocer delivered your groceries in open boxes and left them on your front doorstep if you were out.

They were never stolen. But no one told Scampie that.

One morning we found him on the back lawn happily munching down on our near neighbour's sausages. Unfortunately that neighbour was the local police constable. My dad got an official warning for that. A close shave.

Scampie was tied to the apple tree with a long rope.

One afternoon a few weeks later when my mum was out I found the rope in the garden. But Scampie wasn't attached. He could chew.

My mum found him about half a mile from our house when she was driving home in her old green Austin A30. Scampie had been hit by a car. A fairly hefty vets bill saved him. He recovered.

My dad was less than happy. The rope was replaced by a chain.

Scampie could not chew chain and gradually he calmed down and mellowed. This might have been helped by his second trip to the vets. With a snip snip here and a snip snip there Scampie's dreams of fatherhood were dashed, although that was not before he had spread a few of his oats around the estate. His lineage lived on.

After a few months of good behaviour Scampie was released from the chain gang. Then our adventures really began.

We spent much of our time in the field opposite our house. It was my territory. Well mine, and Frankie's and Boyd's. We were the only young boys living along there. There were some girls too, but heck it was the sixties.

The cow field was our paradise, our adventure playground, our Treasure Island.

Scampie was part of the gang. He'd go digging and hunting, and chasing and racing.

Even though I was a fast runner, Scampie could always beat me. But as time went on I got bigger and I got faster. Scampie didn't and one day, I think around age twelve, I caught him and then I overtook him.

I was a teenager just coming into my prime. In dog years Scampie was in his late forties by then and his prime cuts were passing him by.

As I got older I would go further afield, and Scampie would stay at home. He didn't mind so much by now. He was happy curling up on the orange rug in front of the fire.

But he was still my dog and we still had fun together. And he still liked to have his tummy tickled.

Then the time came for me to go off to medical school. I was going to miss Scampie. He was an old dog now, well into his 80s in dog years, but in moderately good health.

Scampie was still my very best friend. But London beckoned.

As you might have read in my previous post - My Greatest Regret - I never said goodbye - medical school didn't work out for me.

I came back home. Scampie, despite his declining health, was happy to hang out with me and resume his role as my best friend and confidante.

My mother died shortly after I returned home.

My life was turning upside down, inside out and side to side all at the same time.

My father married again. I now had a stepmother. For those who like unusual trivia my dad met my mother and my stepmother at the same time on the same day in the same place. They were best friends.

Scampie comforted me as best he could. Despite not receiving a telegram from the Queen, he was now a centenarian.

My father and stepmother went off on a cruise in the Mediterranean.

I stayed at home to look after Scampie. It was tough for him too. He was blind now, he had lost control of his bladder and his bowels. He ate very little. He just got weaker every day.

I had to make a decision. The toughest decision of my life. He knew that I knew. This was no way to live for a dog like Scampie.

I took him to the vets one last time.

I was with him when he went to sleep. I wasn't going to make that mistake a second time.

Farewell my Scampie. Sleep well my very best friend.

[All images by @pennsif]

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You might also be interested in some of my other posts :

• The Story of Me #1 : My Mum and Me, aged 2

• The Story of Me, and everyone I know

• My Greatest Regret - I never said goodbye

• Hi from west Wales in the UK - I'm a prepper and a homesteader (and before that I used to be a penguin catcher)

• Cooking with Steem - recipe books for promoting steemit

• Building the SteemTowns - Part 1 - Selecting the locations

• SteemTowns - connecting the virtual with the reality - would it be possible?

• Pennsif's Progress - The Days are Numbered // Day 919 : Goodbye young cockerel, hello new friends

• Pennsif's Progress - The Days are Numbered // Day 920 : Up on the roof, down in the earth