How I came to Live on Lone Pine Road

It all started innocently enough. We simply went for a walk. Then, before you could say "Jack Rabbit", she was putting a claim on me. Of course, I had it all planned. I knew she would be going by on her way to the mail box. I looked up from where I was tied by the tree and caught her gaze. She walked past me, then turned around and seemed to study me for a few seconds. "Would you like to take a walk?" she said. I played it cool, trying not to look too anxious. The rest as they say is history.

When she took the leash and led me out to the road, I pranced like a prince. My tail went up in a graceful curve. I held my head high. I was prepared to turn on all the charm I could muster. It seemed to be working. She walked a little tentatively at first. (I wondered if she had walked a dog before.) She settled down when she realized I wouldn’t bolt. As we hit a comfortable stride, I avoided tugging on the leash. There was plenty of time to train to her to keep my pace later, I figured.

"He’s mine," she proclaimed when we got back to the house. My other set of humans seemed surprised. They had tried to pawn me off on her several times before. They were fine as humans go, but their other canines (two at the time) were slightly spoiled, and we did not get along well. That’s why I had spent a lot of time tied up outside, while they took over the sofa.

" Mom," Scott said, "are you sure? You haven’t taken care of a dog in a long time."

"Sure I’m sure. Now that we live in the country, we have space and time for a dog. This dog will keep me company on my walks in the woods. He seems hearty and healthy, so why not?"

"Why not indeed!" was Scott and Dot’s response .

So I had a new home. I kind of got cold feet when they were ready to leave me behind, though. I wasn’t sure I could make it out here in the country. All I had known was city life. However, I sensed that this place would allow me to get closer to my roots as a hunting dog. My new humans hadn’t had a dog in quite a while, so they seemed nervous, too. They asked lots of questions. "How much food does he eat?" "When does he go out to do his ‘business’?" "Is he easy to train?"

My former humans just chuckled at the last question. "Scottish terriers are very stubborn,"they explained. "We didn’t even try to train him beyond potty manners."

We all got in their car. Sylvia was going to take me home from the end of the lane. This gave her a chance to say good bye to her family, and give them a chance to change their minds. They didn’t. I climbed into Mom’s lap and looked happy to Scott and Dot. I’m sure they were thinking about some of the trouble I had gotten into, and wondering how long this arrangement would last. Michigan and Pennsylvania are very far apart. Would they get a call in a few weeks to come and get me? I didn’t know the answer to that question, but I knew it was worth a try.
When the hugs and kisses were over, we were left alone. ( I don’t understand this part of human behavior. We Scotties are quite reserved and find emotional displays unnecessary.) There was a pause as this new companion and I looked at each other. What secrets did we each have that might make or break this relationship? For a moment we were both so unsure of what lay ahead that we walked in silence. There were tears in her eyes. Why? I could not know how much she missed her children since they were grown and on their own. Neither could I know that she was beginning to transfer some of that love to me. I pranced ahead of her with my tail in the air, trying to look alert and proud.

When we got back to the house, I had terrible misgivings. How would I be treated? Did they have a place for me to sleep? Did these new people really like canines? At first I felt unsure, and started to tremble. I hid under the coffee table so my new humans wouldn’t see me shaking. This whole thing might have been a bad idea. After all, I hardly knew them. They knew I was scared, though. I had crawled under the coffee table. After trying to coax me out from under the table for a few minute, an idea came to them.

"He needs a new name," my new female human announced, a brave Scottish name to suit a brave Scottish Terrier. This is a noble breed with linage that goes back to the time of kings and gentlemen."

I listened while she told how my breed had evolved in Scotland. My fear began to disappear. At least they had respect for my breed. So that’s what I am, I thought. Knowing your linage can give you respect. I sat up a little straighter. My name at the time was "Kramer" after a spastic TV sitcom character. Every time the old family called me, I cringed. They thought I was a comical creature. That did not help my self esteem.

Anyway, Sylvia, my new female companion, threw out a few trial names like, Mac Dougal, Sean (after her favorite actor), Angus , Danny and the old stand by Blackie.. Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Fergus," she said, "He was a brave Scottish King." Sylvia had studied Celtic art and history in Scotland and knew a lot about the land of my forefathers. Some of this knowledge she related to me by way of telling others. So Fergus I became. I answered to my new name without a moment’s hesitation. "Come Fergus," cooed Sylvia. I came out from under the coffee table and settled at her feet. This new situation might just work, I thought.