Happy National Mutt Day – Part Two

The Jones family was hit with a ton of bricks the first few weeks of January 2014 as the health of our beloved greyhound, Scout, took a nosedive.


In what seemed like mere days, this animal shelter rescue, circa 2003, went from a lithe active long, lean running machine, to a stumbling, awkward, shell of a dog, void of personality…


…and even unable to eat without assistance.


After numerous trips to the vet, including one in which I physically carried her into the office, and then collapsed in tears once through the door, we decided that it was time to say goodbye.

We made the appointment to put her down on the afternoon of January 17th.  That morning, I pleaded with her to pass on.  I didn’t want to make that final drive to Dr. Spencer’s.

I looked deep in her eyes, and thought they glimmered a bit, reminding me of all the times she pulled through for me:  all the times when she would be Sabi’s playmate for the day, all the times she would keep watch on Austin, even during the Blizzard of 2010.  And what about the times she graciously allowed the kids to dress her in costume, or her constant attempts to help me finally perfect my downward facing dog?  And finally, even though she was somewhat of an icon in the neighborhood, with a reputation to uphold, didn’t she always respond with love to every silly nickname (Scoutie, Skittie, Sca-litter to name a few) I had managed to bestow upon her?



And so with a deep, mournful sigh, I said, “Okay, girl.”

The winter months seemed heavy that year, as if a dark cloud hovered above our rooftop every day.   The house seemed so quiet; the family pining for the familiar click, click, click of tiny greyhound paws prancing down the hallway.

Then spring came, a time of rebirth, sunny skies, and brighter outlooks.

“I really miss Scout, but God’s gonna bring me a big dog!”  Sabrina confidently declared one morning.

“Yeah. Right. Whatever.”

My famous last words.

You see, even though this story begins with the ending of a hound, it ends with the beginning of a mutt because when one doggie door closes in Arkansas, another one opens!




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