On February 28, Scamp turned fourteen! Honestly, last November, when our vet told us he had a tumor on his spleen, I wondered if he’d make it past Christmas. But, darn, if he’s still hanging in there! I give him a half a pill a day. It’s an appetite stimulant, anti-naussea type thing. Without that, I don’t think he’d be eating much at all. But right now, he’s chowing down pretty good. We blast Scamp with love and give him all the treats he wants, of course. He’s earned it. Most importantly, he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. That would be a deal breaker.
Scamp doesn’t run to the door when we come home anymore. Mostly, I think, because he doesn’t hear us. To be expected in an old guy, right? But the minute I start doing stuff in the kitchen, he hears that! Or smells it. All of a sudden, Scamp’s next to me, looking for a handout, especially when we’re eating. Nothing new there. What is new is that Charlie doesn’t give me the ol’ stink eye anymore when I sneak Scamp bits of meat off my plate.
Scamp still follows me from room to room, settling in where I settle. He just does it more slowly. In the morning, if it’s taking me more time them usual to get dressed in my outdoor clothes, I have to watch him or he’ll do his business in the house. So now, if Scamp gives me that look, I just open the door and let him into the yard by himself. I never did that before. I keep an eye on him while I finish putting on my coat, of course. You know your dog is old when you no longer worry about him running away. I 
mean, how far could he get?
You also know he’s old because Scamp now does what we call the “traveling poops”: a little here, a little there, with much staring into space in-between. Just as you go to tie up the poop bag and put your mittens back on (because it’s so darn cold out), Scamp makes another deposit. And the more he goes, the harder it is to pick up, if you know what I’m saying.
Still, small price to pay to have our little bundle of love around awhile longer.
Poopy McGoopy
You’d best keep your distance, people would say
Just keep on moving, get out of his way
Still, women would smile, husbands would frown
When Poopy McGoopy walked into town
“Poopy” weren’t always his name, to be sure
That’s just the nickname he’s gotta endure
(Based on, well, let’s keep it quiet:
I think it has something to do with his diet)
There was a time when McGoopy was king
When he’d race and he’d chase after any old thing
At anyone passing, he’d look to engage
And children would send the guy into a rage
Fearsome he was, this tough little brute
Still, there were ladies who thought he was cute
And though they would fondle his fine, curly hair
He’d treat them like they were not even there
‘Cause no matter how these hussies would try
McGoopy was always a one-woman guy
And is to this day, with her he’s a lamb
That gal’s got him eating right out of her hand
His growl and bite? Things of the past
And if it’s to move, he ain’t going fast
It’s more like an amble, following her
In search of a spot where he won’t have to stir
He’d be the happiest fella around
If only she’d stop and just settle down!
Poopy McGoopy, once village scrapper,
Now wears the crown of “Notorious Napper”
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Scamp, the Birthday Boy