Scruff Lives!

The following is an update on our chief source of entertainment, the mangy pup known as Mr Scruff. Now, I understand that this makes me sound like a gushing parent, but we’re very proud of the little runt, since when we took her under our wing she was barely able to walk straight and had a glassy dazed look to complement her swollen worm-riddled belly. Now, she’s been taught a few tricks and has been successfully discouraged from chewing chair legs, although she still likes clamp her jaw on to sub-ankle level clothes like trousers/skirts/shoelaces. Due to the free-range system in the village, there’s always things to chase, and she especially likes to scare sheep. This seems to make her feel all dogly but when they turn around and stamp, there is the inevitable scamper home, tail between her legs and ears pinned back in terror. Her arch enemy is a ginger chicken who used to peck around trying to steal her food when she was very weak. Now she has the sense to growl the prowling fowl away but since the kiev-in-waiting is bigger than her, it’s not always the best plan. Seeing as this chuck is a cheeky little clucker though, I think I might help the scruff win the war by buying and eating it for Christmas dinner. (‘Course the carnophobic I doesn’t like this plan one bit).

The other day we invited the mobile vet round to give her a rabies jab. The guy seemed to be more interested in looking round our house than administering the shot so the first time he tried, the scruff sprung a leak and blood oozed from her shoulder. After much struggling, she was finally subdued long enough to be injected with the virus. The vet drove off on his vintage motorbike stocked up with tales of bizarre obruni behaviour (dogs as pets! who’d have thought!) and we were left with a very sullen looking mutt. Despite giving her some conciliatory biccies, she continued to eye us with suspicion and, to be honest, we started to do the same when her head started swelling up and her behaviour veered on the erratic side. She was scratching furiously and rapidly wandering aimlessly, with head bowed meekly low, around the front of the house in the odd but hilarious way she does following a wash. As we watched, the swollen bonce got quickly worse and large lumps started sprouting up on her forehead and under her eyes. What’s next, we wondered, frothing at the mouth? Perhaps 2 jabs for such a scrawny little mutt is a little more than she can cope with... She then went to hide under some foliage and we retreated indoors. A couple of hours later we heard a scratching at the door. With cutlass in hand, we gingerly edged the door ajar. Thankfully however, we were met simply by a sorry-looking pup, and not a growling, gnashing hound. Phew!

Other than chewing on crusty sheep crap and greedily lapping up our toothpaste spit (there’s no sink so its gobbed outside), the Scruff likes nothing better than a nice supper of medium-sized bugs. As we’re not exactly fans of ‘roaches, this is fine by us. She has met her match more than once though. One night, we went outside with her and saw a stag beetle (gigantic foot long insect) harassing a toad. Never one to be perturbed by finger-sized pincers, the Scruffbag trots over to investigate. The toad sensibly sees this as its opportunity to do a runner and let the stupid dog deal with the enormous invertebrate. The Scruff sniffs, is snapped at, then scurries between our legs, whining in pain. Another lesson painfully learnt, but then, everyday’s a school day.