A Dog’s Life

From Cradle to Grave with Scout

A boy and his dog, day one

We got Scout when he was twelve weeks old, a bit late in the puppy game — they say eight weeks is the perfect age at which to get a puppy: old enough to be independent from its mother, young enough to bond closely to its new human family. Scout was twelve weeks when we got him and had lived his whole life with his parents and siblings. He spent one night at our house before separation anxiety caused him severe gastrointestinal distress. His nonstop vomiting and diarrhea led us to the emergency pet hospital, where 48 hours of round-the-clock care, anti-vomiting meds and IV fluids cost us $2,000.

“$2,000?” said my then-husband, incredulous. “I mean, we just met this dog.”

We paid the vet and brought Scout home, where he joined our five sons, ranging in age from eleven to six. His early belly troubles both revealed his sensitive nature and belied his iron stomach. In addition to his own poop, which to this day he will eat if left unattended with it, in the first year or two of his life, Scout ate whatever wasn’t nailed down or hidden from him. He swallowed a cow bone in its entirety with an audible, cartoonish gulp. He devoured chew toys whose packages bore promises like “ten hours of teething!” in less than an hour, and chewed up books right there on the shelves. He took advantage of our divided attentions at the birthday party of my…