What’s So Great About Scott?

“A friend loves at all times…” Proverbs 17:17
Two dogs strolled along a narrow sidewalk one early autumn afternoon. Slowly one of them, an old saggy-eyed, long-eared, patched hound stopped in front of a big yard surrounded by a black iron fence.
The droopy hound looked down at his small peppy friend, a scrawny yellow chihuahua, and asked, “Have you heard what they call the dog in there?” Hound lowered one eyebrow, “Great little Scott.”
Oh, yep, yep!” piped the chihuahua, “He’s the best dog in the whole neighborhood,” raising both his little eyebrows as he squeaked.
“Aw, flea circus. What’s so great about Scott?” Hound snorted as he pointed his nose upward. “Look at him. He’s a wee little dog that stumbles on his own fur. I’m a stout dog of the finest breed.”
“Yep, he’s a wee dog, even shorter than me,” said the scrawny yellow dog, “but every time the little girl gets home from school, little Scott jumps on her side, licks her little cheeks, rubs his head in her hands, and wags his tail in a circle like a merry-go-round.”
Hound just shook his head side to side, Chihuahua tried to smile, and then the companions continued down the sidewalk.
That fall, every few days, Hound waddled through the fallen leaves on the sidewalk to stop beside the iron fence and ask himself, “What’s so great about Scott?”
Scott peered out from the porch rails of his little dog house, barked a greeting of “hello,” and wagged his tail in a circle like a merry-go-round.
Hound shook his head and lumbered on by.
One very chilly winter morning, Hound with his sweater and Chihuahua with his coat, went again to the big yard.
“What’s so great about Scott?” the old dog began. “He doesn’t get such fine clothes to keep him warm in chilly weather. My sweater was made just to fit me. He only has that wiry black hair to keep him warm.”
“Y-Y-Yep, he only has his b-b-black fur to k-k-keep warm,” responded the shivering chihuahua, “but even on c-c-cold mornings, w-w-wiry Scott greets the man hurrying from the d-d-door jumping at his side, l-l-licking his cold fingers, r-r-rubbing his head on his legs, and w-w-wagging his tail in a circle like a m-m-merry-go-round.”
The unmoved hound only yawned and they started again for their master’s warm abode.
Old Hound only went once a week in the winter to briefly stop at the iron fence and ask himself, “What’s so great about Scott?”
Scott peered out from the porch rails of his little dog house, barked a greeting of “hello,” and wagged his tail in a circle like a merry-go-round.
Hound shook his head and lumbered on by.
The next spring, though it poured with rain, the lazy hound and his little sidekick again passed the big yard.
“What’s so great about Scott? He has a small damp box in this yard to sleep in, but I have my master’s cozy house.” Hound closed his eyes to think about the comfort of his soft sleeping rug.
“Yep, he might be cold some days,” said Chihuahua between his own chills, “but even in the rain when the pretty lady comes through the gate, wet Scott jumps by her side, licks her toes, rubs his head on her hand, and wags his tail in a circle like a merry-go-round.
The grumpy hound again shook his head at this, and the two continued to splash along on their journey.
Almost every day in the Spring, Hound persisted in peering through the iron fence just to ask himself, “What’s so great about Scott?”
Scott peered out from the porch rails of his little dog house, barked a greeting of “hello,” and wagged his tail in a circle like a merry-go-round.
Hound shook his head and lumbered on by.
“I heard the neighbors are going on vacation,” Hound wheezed one hot summer day.
Chihuahua watched the event across the big yard as each person, the little girl, the pretty lady, and the man in a hurry, put item after item into their car.
Sour Hound watched Scott all the while.
The little black dog was in heaven. On each trip from the house to the car he was jumping on every side; licking cheeks, fingers, and toes; rubbing his head on hands and legs; wagging his tail round and round until he almost flew.
At last, the packing stopped and the car pulled outside the iron gate.
Scott, still spinning his tail, stood looking from the yard.
“What’s so great about Scott? He’s not even taken on the family vacation.” The somber Hound almost seemed to pity the little dog as he spoke.
“He may not go,” Chihuahua said sternly, making Hound look into his round bulging eyes, “but what makes Scott so great is- even if it’s hot in the summer, wet in the spring, cold in the winter, or lonely in the changing fall- he always loves.”
Old Hound turned again to look at Scott.
He was just in time to see the man hurriedly scoop up the little black dog and place him gently in the girl’s lap. The two dogs watched the car pass by and grinned when they saw the little girl laughing and squealing as Scott licked her cheeks.
by Thurston Faulkner

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