While we lived on Stoddard, we had an ugly little dog named Scruffy. He was shedding all the time, he was always dirty, and he had a mean disposition.
He
liked us kids, though, and would wait patiently for us to get home from
school each day. He’d sit behind the couch, which was up against the big
plate glass window in the front of the house, and stare out, all day
long, until we got home.
We’d open the door and that little dog would be there, joyfully waging its tail. We’d pet it, play with it a bit, and go off to do other things. To Belinda and myself, he was a great little dog.
The mailman would not agree with us, however. Our house had a mailbox in the front door, which allowed the mailman to deliver the mail direct to our living room. Scruffy would always hear him coming and would wait expectantly near the slot.
When he saw the hand open the slot, he’d pounce! His sharp teeth would grab the mail and rip it from the mailman’s hands. Scruffy would then fight with the mail, shredding it and throwing it all over the living room.
I’m sure that the mailman lost a day from his life every time he delivered mail to our house.
Scruffy died one day, I don’t remember how or when. I just remember that he was gone. I felt a little sad, but I had Big Mouth (my cat) to keep me company, and, of course, mom and dad soon got us another dog.
Unless otherwise noted, all photos and text is Copyright © Richard G Lowe, Jr.