This morning, Facebook reminded me that four years ago today, we laid Scudder to rest. And given my reaction to seeing that memory, the pain of his loss remains with me.
Scudder was our black Lab. We raised him from puppyhood, through adulthood into old age, something like 16 years. That’s old for a Lab. And he was our faithful companion all those years, despite mishaps, antics, and whatever he did. We loved that goofy animal.
Scudder was a couch potato, he loved being indoors, and hated nature. We once got a kiddy swimming pool and filled it with water. The other dogs took right to it. Not Scudder. He was in and out.
In the mornings, I’d take him out to use the bathroom. Once he finished and he spotted the newspaper in the driveway, he’d make a beeline for it, grabbing it in his jaws. But it was with the softest touch. Never once did he tear it up, as he proudly bore it into the house, where, only reluctantly, he’d give it up.
So in 2013, as the summer passed by, we knew something was wrong. He’d started limping, favoring a rear leg. Eventually, I began carrying him outside to do his business. He didn’t seem in pain, but we hauled him off to the vet, where we discovered he had cancer. His days with us were numbered.
Of course, se did the humane thing, rather than wait and see him suffer.
Today, however, he lives on in my heart, and in my books as Wolf’s favorite companion, Patton.