I just have to tell this story about my first Scottie dog, Babes. I think this story more than any other will help illustrate what I said in an earlier post that we are all on a journey of learning and discovery, and we meet one another at different places on the trail. At the time this story took place (1983), I was pretty much near the beginning of my hike up the Grand Canyon of dog knowledge. How does that go . . . I was depriving some village of their idiot? Let us say that I didn't know nearly enough about Scotties or breeding and that is where our story starts.
Have you ever heard a Scottie "Arooooooo?" If you haven't, then you've missed something really quite unique. An Aroooooo is a greeting or an exclamation of something noteworthy. It is a long, drawn-out and throaty comment on something the Scottie would like to discuss with you. It is kind of the Scottie equivalent of a Beagle baying at the moon, or a wolf howling into the night. Sometimes, in ScottieSpeak, it is just a plain old doggy exclamation point. My girl Babes had quite an Arooooooo and when she wanted to talk to you, you knew about it. It was one of my favorite things things, then and now: to hear my Scotties Arooooo in unison.
Babes came from a pet store, and yes, I can hear you all groaning. I knew nothing of breed science and I actually thought it might be fun to breed her. I figured I would just go out and find a male Scottie to breed her with--just any intact Scottie lad would do. I knew nothing of Babes' parentage and even less about the laws of genetics or heritability and so was ill-equipped to tackle any sort of breeding endeavor. I hang my head in shame when recalling the simpleton I so happily was.
While I was eagerly hunting up a "boy to fix her up with," the ugliest, meanest Pit Bull you have ever seen started hanging around our house. One look at him told me that he had come with strong hormonal motivation to court my Babes and I had better stand tough if I wanted to keep this suitor away. It was the first time I had any insight into how my Dad might have felt looking over some of the fellas I used to drag home.
I have nothing against Pit Bulls and I am very much against the anti-pit bull backlash that seems to be sweeping the country. But let it be said that this guy was just Not Nice. There are Nice Pit Bulls and Not Nice Pit Bulls, and he was one of the latter. Every time I tried to shoo him away, he would stand his ground and stare me down and never move a muscle. If I got real close to him, he would growl, low and threateningly. Of course, what do you think that meant to the girlie-girl in the house? Babes thought he was perfect, far better than a regular long-snouted terrier. In fact, he was one step up from a Scottie boy: A snarling, hate-your-Mama-I’m-here-on-business-Pit Bull was just her idea of a dream date.
Babes came from a pet store, and yes, I can hear you all groaning. I knew nothing of breed science and I actually thought it might be fun to breed her. I figured I would just go out and find a male Scottie to breed her with--just any intact Scottie lad would do. I knew nothing of Babes' parentage and even less about the laws of genetics or heritability and so was ill-equipped to tackle any sort of breeding endeavor. I hang my head in shame when recalling the simpleton I so happily was.
While I was eagerly hunting up a "boy to fix her up with," the ugliest, meanest Pit Bull you have ever seen started hanging around our house. One look at him told me that he had come with strong hormonal motivation to court my Babes and I had better stand tough if I wanted to keep this suitor away. It was the first time I had any insight into how my Dad might have felt looking over some of the fellas I used to drag home.
I have nothing against Pit Bulls and I am very much against the anti-pit bull backlash that seems to be sweeping the country. But let it be said that this guy was just Not Nice. There are Nice Pit Bulls and Not Nice Pit Bulls, and he was one of the latter. Every time I tried to shoo him away, he would stand his ground and stare me down and never move a muscle. If I got real close to him, he would growl, low and threateningly. Of course, what do you think that meant to the girlie-girl in the house? Babes thought he was perfect, far better than a regular long-snouted terrier. In fact, he was one step up from a Scottie boy: A snarling, hate-your-Mama-I’m-here-on-business-Pit Bull was just her idea of a dream date.
I suppose I have to admit here and now that she was a girl of strange appetites and as it turned out, Babes liked it kinda dangerous.
However, I am one determined girl, too, so I managed to fend off this unsuitable suitor for two whole weeks. In the meantime, through unbelievable effort on my part, I was finally able to locate "a Scottie boy" when I took Babes to the groomer. He happened to be in a cage close by when I came to pick her up. I begged the groomer to give me the owners' names, and while she was reluctant, I am sure she wasn't nearly as reluctant or as sorry as his owners were when I called. They absolutely were not interested in breeding their "show dog" to a puppy mill bitch. (Can I blame them?)
As, as it turns out, they weren't snotty; they were just much smarter and better educated about the art of breeding than I was at that time. Did I catch on to any of their subtle and not so subtle hints? Absolutely not. With the determination of a kid walking out of a dark holler, I wouldn't take no for an answer. They tried to educate me as kindly as they could, pointedly inquiring about her bloodline, her health, what part of the country she was from, etc., but it just wasn't sinking in. My face still gets red when I think about it. I mean, I hounded these poor people for several days to let me breed Babes to their beloved well-bred Scottie male. It must have been my complete naivete' that made them give in. Maybe it was my guileless, witless persistence. Or it may have been because I promised not to sell the puppies but to keep them all and have them spayed and neutered. The truth is probably closer to the fact that I badgered them beyond the point of rational thinking and they finally just gave up. So, without a shred of enthusiasm, they told me to come on out to their farm and to bring Babes with me for the breeding.
The whole thing turned into an exercise in futility. Kinda like, "How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen Gay Paree?" After getting a good look at Mr. Undesirable at home, Babes wanted absolutely nothing to do with their Scottie boy. Maybe he was the equivalent of a high-class snobby nerd and didn't appeal to her more basic desires. He tried what were to his mind all the right moves; courted her in that Scottie feint/dodge/roll kinda way, but she was having nothing to do with his pedigreed hard-coated kind.
Still, I had not given up hope. We waited and watched all day long, and finally, she just looked so bored that I decided to call it a day. Not give up, mind you, as I was determined to give her a "good Scottish experience," as I told my brother at the time. I am sure the owners of the male were relieved, but politely suggested I take her home as she just might not be ready yet. (I thought if they were in heat, they were ready. See how much I knew?) We made arrangements to try again on the weekend, which was only two days away. I suppose they might have used the time until then to pray to the Lord for my enlightenment, I don't know. But as it turns out, their little male's virtue remained intact and was never sullied by a dalliance with my less than regal Babes.
I came home, all tired and depressed, wondering if I was ever meant to see Babes' wee Scottie puppies. I was also a little put out with her for being such a tease, so I talked to her all the way home, chastising her for being so much trouble. Once we got home, I was smart enough to remain on my guard for you-know-who before I let her out for her evening "doo or dew." That's what I call it anyway; you know "Do your doo!"
I made a perimeter check of the house: nothing in the bushes or behind the trees, no "bad" dogs in sight. All areas seemed clear, so I let her out on the front steps. She just stood there. Looking at me. I knew what she was waiting for. She wouldn't go if I was watching her, because she knew she would immediately be whisked back into the house as soon as she was finished, foiling her heart's desire to sniff out her secret lover boy's latest urine-soaked valentines. She also wouldn't go if I stood inside the door and tried to hide from her, as she had caught on to that little game in a maddeningly short amount of time. In fact, she would not "do the doo" unless she heard my footsteps go away from the door and into the hall. So, I calculated--20 steps to the bathroom, 20 steps back--I figured I would run and get my toothbrush and attend to my oral hygiene while she was doing the doo.
Now really and truly, I was gone less than thirty seconds. When I came back, there she was locked in a pretty intense embrace of that most unworthy fellow. I don't know where he was hiding or which direction he came from, but he saw the chance and he took it. (I was going to say that he saw an opening and he took it, but that just doesn't seem polite . . . .)
Now really and truly, I was gone less than thirty seconds. When I came back, there she was locked in a pretty intense embrace of that most unworthy fellow. I don't know where he was hiding or which direction he came from, but he saw the chance and he took it. (I was going to say that he saw an opening and he took it, but that just doesn't seem polite . . . .)
She just stood there staring up at me with a look I can only call satisfied. He, on the other hand, looked defiant and smug. Well, as a matter of fact, she looked kind of smug, too. I was so completely caught off guard by this sight that I almost choked on my toothpaste. I just could not get over what I was seeing! AAAARGH! The best-laid plans and all that rot . . . .
I sat down on the step, absent-mindedly brushing my teeth until their love thang was complete. Then, I gave him stern orders to "git" and ordered her in the house. ("Young lady, I mean it!")
Well, she tore into that house and around the furniture and in and out of the rooms like her butt was a rocket. Take the way that they act after they have been bathed, multiply that tenfold and now imagine that you bathed them in Tabasco sauce and you might have an idea of what she looked like--a mighty fast and agitated black streak.
Finally, I just gave in to the moment. I was mad, I was worried, but her enthusiasm was kind of contagious. So I went in to my room where she was presently making circles around my bed at full speed and watched my little whizzing ball of fur burning up the carpet. All of a sudden, she stopped. Up on the bed comes the Spice Girl of Lakeview Circle. She jumped right up between my pillows, sat down on her haunches and gave me a look and then let out the longest, most "lusty" Aroooo that I have ever heard a Scottie utter. It was full of meaningful inflection, with good use of recurrent themes and tempos. I think of it now as being "resplendent with meaning."
I sat down on the step, absent-mindedly brushing my teeth until their love thang was complete. Then, I gave him stern orders to "git" and ordered her in the house. ("Young lady, I mean it!")
Well, she tore into that house and around the furniture and in and out of the rooms like her butt was a rocket. Take the way that they act after they have been bathed, multiply that tenfold and now imagine that you bathed them in Tabasco sauce and you might have an idea of what she looked like--a mighty fast and agitated black streak.
Finally, I just gave in to the moment. I was mad, I was worried, but her enthusiasm was kind of contagious. So I went in to my room where she was presently making circles around my bed at full speed and watched my little whizzing ball of fur burning up the carpet. All of a sudden, she stopped. Up on the bed comes the Spice Girl of Lakeview Circle. She jumped right up between my pillows, sat down on her haunches and gave me a look and then let out the longest, most "lusty" Aroooo that I have ever heard a Scottie utter. It was full of meaningful inflection, with good use of recurrent themes and tempos. I think of it now as being "resplendent with meaning."
I needed no course in music appreciation to get the gist of what she had said. There was no mistaking what she was trying to convey: She liked that bad guy. A lot! and "How soon again would I be needing to brush my teeth?"
Sadly, Pit Bull/Scottie puppies are not pretty or easy to find homes for, but I learned some very valuable lessons:
Sadly, Pit Bull/Scottie puppies are not pretty or easy to find homes for, but I learned some very valuable lessons:
*Listen to knowledgeable people who try to advise you when your pet isn't suitable for breeding;
* If you are new to your pet's particular breed, gain more information about the breed in general before moving forward with a plan for breeding;
* If you don't know anything about the history of your pet or its parents and similar information about the stud you plan to use, don't even think about breeding;
* If you don't know enough to keep your dog away from a horny Pit Bull, just give it up. Get your bitch to the nearest vet and have that girl spayed.
Also, I learned that a cross between a Pit Bull and a Scottie is called a "Bull Scott," which sounds more like something I'd say when reading this story.
Here's a few links to check out if you are considering embarking on a breeding career, or even just breeding your dog once:
Things to Consider Before Breeding Your Dog:
What You Should Know Before Breeding Your Dog (or Other Pet):
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