by Michelle N. Broughton

Created on: June 17, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

I rest the sacks of groceries on the floor for a few moments before taking those holding food items to the kitchen. I return to find a long mustached muzzle buried in one of the bags. The Scottish terrier attached to the muzzle pays no attention to me. His full focus is on the toy hidden in the bottom. The black head springs from the sack, tossing his prize into the air. With a happy yelp, he catches the hard rubber treat holder in massive teeth. I cringe thinking how painful it would be if I did the same thing. Yet he is unaffected.

The odd thing is that when there is no surprise, he never goes near the packages I bring home. If there IS a toy or treat, he's bouncing up and down, back and forth, side to side before I get out of the car. How does he know ahead of time?

He's a strutting, thirty-pound bundle of muscle that loves the human he's adopted. That would be my husband. Although my daughter and I pried him lose from a death sentence once he got too old to be cute at the pet shop, he never showed that thrill of the find until Bruce came home two weeks later.

One sniff and Mr. Scotty knew his human had arrived. Although Bruce has no disciplinary control over the little dog, he has been accepted as a brother dog. Every night the two of them snuggle into their lounge chair. Mr. Scotty rests his upper body across Bru's thighs and with a barely audible snort rolls into dream land. Quite often, Bruce follows soon after.

He guards his domain with a large dog's bark and roar, backed up by those teeth which are made to grip and hold until he's dragged from a burrow with his prey. Since we don't follow those pursuits, he settles for practicing on his toys. All toys have to be made of the almost indestructible rubber or they last roughly one minute before all their soft stuffings trail across the living room toward his bed. Every now and then, he'll become attached to a stuffed animal and guard it zealously until ready to destroy it.

Scotties are really quarter horses in dogs' bodies. They have an amazing herding instinct which Mr. Scotty practiced with relish on our cat. Light on his feet with a bounce that would make Pooh's Tigger green with envy, he danced around the hapless feline like Ali in his 'butterfly' days. The dog was thrilled; the cat usually gave up, curled up and went to sleep to halt the process.

Tough guy though he may be, being bathed and groomed is akin to dooming him to Purgatory it seems. Ditto with veterinary visits. For these monumental occasions, Mr. Scotty the Fearless must be led through the doors by Rocky, a twelve pound, jut-jawed, cute as a button Shih Tzu, who's older and wiser. He also is such a Zen fellow, he has a three-second delay between being nipped by a lovely toy poodle down the way and the moment he realizes his tush hurts.

These two characters, along with their cat buddy, have become the central characters in a book I'm writing. As each walked into my life, another piece of the book puzzle fell into place until my fingers fairly flew over the keyboard putting their story onto paper and into computer memory. The brash Scottie, the Zen Shih Tzu and the cranky old cat became a trio to be reckoned with. They might fuss among themselves, but no other animal has that privilege. Between them, they've made our lives warmer, happier and more exciting. Ain't puppy love grand?

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