My Dog Can Smell Your Soul - 7/26/2010

My baker’s dozen of regular readers know that my boon companion is my Beagle, Skooter. Those that know Beagles realize they have an amazing sense of smell. They are often used for drug, cadaver, or bomb dogs. Skooter has a special ability.

I wish I was as good of a judge of character as this canine. He has divided all humans into three categories immediately upon meeting them and deals with them thusly:

1) If he likes them he can be very charming, sidling up to them and offering himself to be petted, stroked, or otherwise attended to. He will repay these kind gestures with a loving look from his big, sad, brown eyes. He may nuzzle them or even offer a lick, though his is not generally a licker. Chances are he may just stand by them and relax.

2) Some people he will totally ignore and even change course to avoid contact with them. He has sensed that they are not deserving of his favor but has not yet made a full determination. Through time, they can actually earn their way into the first group. They are on super secret probation and only Skooter knows why.

3) The third group of people has been instantly entered into Skooter’s shit list. His hackles will rise. He will snarl and bark at them and no amount of coaxing will change his mind. If he was looking at the devil himself, the reaction would be no different. If they had a pocket full of treats he would not alter his perception.

You may say that Skooter is exhibiting prejudice and bigotry, making an instant, baseless, judgment on the worth of a person. I think that Skooter’s position is that there are enough good people in the world for him to waste time on the bad. Not a bad policy in my opinion.


I can only speak for myself, but sometimes I am so eager to be petted, stroked, or otherwise attended to that I have often not been as selective as would be prudent as to whom I offer my back to. Historically, I have often been metaphorically stabbed in that back. Sometimes just a flesh wound and other times a near fatality, cutting into major organs. Usually the attack comes after I have squandered time, emotion, and resources on this schlemiel or schlemielette.

Skooters method of sorting humanity has served him well. He has never, to my knowledge, had a less than satisfying association with humans of his choice, while in my custody.



He does not choose by race, sexual preference, gender, economic status, or national origin. I believe he can smell their soul. Two people can approach him and he will select one (or none) to give his brand of affection to. Once they are accepted, they are members of Skooter’s inner circle for life. And I have to be honest. Those that he has embraced have proven to be worthy. Right Mike?

Skooter does have a trace of bigotry however. He pretty much dislikes all children. They are only eligible for categories 2 and 3. They tend to get in his face before he has had the opportunity to evaluate them, thereby forfeiting their opportunity. Oh yeah, and if you try to reach into our car, uninvited, all bets are off. He has to appraise you on his terms.

Skooter's Audition Tape - 11/7/09

Wordless Wednesday - "Do Not Speak to Driver When Vehicle is in Motion" - 10/15/08

Sunday Scribblings - "miracle" - 9/7/08

This week’s Sunday Scribblings prompt is “miracle.” It didn’t immediately elicit any ideas other than the very obvious. I have witnessed many miracles in my life, both large and small, but in time I can rationalize and trivialize even the most miraculous and impossible happenings. Though I believe in supernatural events, I compartmentalize them in my mind, and don’t dwell on them.

I recently had a small miracle affect my life in huge way. In an effort to simplify my life, I had unintentionally eliminated any purpose for living. I had no reason to get up in the morning, so I often didn’t. I could sleep 18 hours a day and eat the other 6 hours. When I went for my annual physical at the VA, I discussed this with my doctor. I said that maybe I needed to see a mental health provider. He said that unless I had post traumatic stress syndrome, that the mental health clinic would not see me. Soldiers returning from Iraq have overwhelmed them. He prescribed some anti-depressants and sent me on my way.

In the meantime, a friend of mine had encouraged me to get a dog. I am a dog lover, but did not think I could handle the responsibility of caring for one, when I could hardly care for myself. Anyway, I am a big dog guy and live in a condo. The rules of my condo limit me to a dog of 25 pounds. I am not fond of little, yippy, ankle biters like Chihuahuas and such and cannot imagine walking down the road with a shitsu on a leash. That is almost as bad as having a cat. Guys with cats scare me. But women with lots of cats terrify me even more. I know there are cat lovers reading this that’s asses have just clenched a bit, but I have valid reasons for my opinion of cats. The first is that I am horribly allergic to cats. If I walk in a house containing a cat I will know within a minute. The second and more profound reason is that I once had a cat spray my gym bag. If you have ever had a cat baptize an article of clothing, you know what I am talking about. There are no detergent commercials that claim to remove that odor.

So I decided to visit the local Humane Society, which is one of the most heartbreaking places on earth. There were lots of great dogs, but they were all large dogs, certainly over 25 pounds. I guess it is just like with orphaned children, the larger ones are hard to place. If I had room, I would adopt the lot of them. The dogs, not the children. I came home and looked on Craig’s list. Again, I could find no suitable dogs. So I posted a short ad promising a good home to a small dog. I received several responses, but the one that caught my eye was one from Steph for a five-year-old beagle, named Skooter. Though small, a beagle is definitely a man’s dog. We corresponded via email a few times (Steph and I, not Skooter) and made an appointment for me to come and meet Skooter. I took him for a test ride and a walk and we bonded immediately. I took him home that night and he has been by my side ever since.



He has the most amazing internal clock. Regardless of what time we retire for the night, each morning at 7 AM, I hear the patter of his toenails on my hardwood floor and see his tail coming around the bed. Then his adorable face and sad eyes appear on the side of my bed.. He is ready to eat and go for a walk. In that order. I now have a reason to get up in the morning. This might not qualify as a miracle in the precise definition of the word, but meeting Skooter was a miracle for me.

I have a long way to go to get back to mental well-being, but having a loving companion is a good start. It is hard to be depressed with Skooter sharing my life.

He also enjoys sharing my new 800 count Egyptian cotton sheets while I am on the computer.