Scrubby and his new home

If this picture was of a Dalmatian, I'd swear this poster, below, was written just for him:

How is Scrubby adjusting to life on Terceira? Wonderfully. He has the run of the place. Since we don't have air conditioning, the doors are open all the time. He can go in, out, around. Whatever he wants. He's even figured out (smart dog) that if we shut him out of the downstairs, there's probably a door open on the second floor. And since there's a stairway leading to second floor outside the house, why not just run up that. I can't tell you how many times I shoo him out downstairs, only to have him show up behind me having snuck in up the outside staircase.

Scrubs had developed a little hesitation with men at our home in Turkey. I'm not sure what happened, but we moved here, and that hesitation seems to have completely disappeared. He loves everyone. He'll lick anyone's face who wants to get near him. As soon as I say "no pagano" (which I am not spelling correctly since I don't know how to spell in Portuguese yet), people flock around him. (That means he doesn't bit. I think.)

He also barks at everyone. Our house in Turkey had no windows in the front of the house. No chance to investigate the comings and goings of neighbors galore. But here, there are windows everywhere, and a wall that he can run along to annoy any passerbys.

I once heard that Dalmatians were fence jumpers. But Scrubs has never done it. Until now. He can't jump the gate in front of our home, but the one in the garden is fair game. So we had Senor Carlos install a gate running the wall of the garden so he couldn't jump. Senor Carlos did a great job. But he stopped a little shy of the end. There was a huge plant there. The wall was covered with nails. On the other side of the wall was a spiky plant. I agreed with his decision. Scrubs couldn't jump over there.

Or could he?

He could.

It would happen, of course, when I have all three kids by myself. I accidentally left a door open on our second floor. So I leave the house, Abigail in stroller, boys on bikes with helmets secured, and we begin to walk to Kristy's house. We decide to take the long way (about 5 minutes instead of 2) so that the boys can ride their bikes down a sidewalk "ramp" that they love. We are almost to the sidewalk when, out of the corner of my eye, I spot something white fly by me.

"Hey Mommy," Isaac says. "Look! There's Scrubby?"

"Is he going to Kristy's house with us?" Elijah asked.

NO HE IS NOT!

With no leash, I had no choice but to drag him by his collar all the way back to our house while trying to push Abigail and keep the boys safe. Our street is not too busy but cars come down it very fast, so caution is needed. I got all the way to the gate, and I felt my eighty pound dog dig his heels in. All four of them. He did not want to go back inside. That much was obvious.

And gosh darn it, he found a way to wrangle himself out of his collar! I turned to yell "Come!" when my flip-flop broke. So as he goes into the neighbor's yard across the street, I leave the kids with their hands touching the safety of our wall to try to snag Scrubby again.

Knowing it will be hard to catch him without a collar to grab onto, I decide to employ pleading tactics. Treat tactics. "Come on Scrubby. Want a treat? C'mon Scrubby. You are such a good bye. Come. Please come." I'm begging actually. Pleading.

Those gosh darn Dalmatians. They have a reputation for being stupid. That is so far from the truth. They are just so stinkin' stubborn, it will drive you crazy. I know Scrubs like the back of my hand, and so I knew, in a matter of moments, that he planned on darting by me to go on his own adventure. He looked at me, his ears perked up, his eyes looked left and then right and then ... he was gone.

And that he did. He faked me right, went left, and before I knew it, I was left holding a blue empty collar with one flip-flop on, and three little kids clinging to the wall on the other side of the street.

Was I fuming?

Oh yes I was.

Now what do I do? I have no vehicle. I have three small children who I can't take around on their bikes to find a very fast dog. So I grabbed his leash from inside the house (and a different pair of flip-flops) and walked over to Kristy's. I left the three kids in her charge, and took off.

He wouldn't go far. He never did. He never has an intention to run away. His intention is just to get some good sniffing in. Love on a few old ladies. Pee on every bush he can find. And wait until we track him down.

In Turkey, I'd usually find a group of kids to help me. I'd give them a box of treats and they'd take off yelling for the big white dog. (He doesn't blend well. Maybe that's why we get along so well. I don't blend well either.)

Or, I'd call Shane, who would jump in his Jeep and attract Scrubby within minutes. (He loved Shane.)

I saw a woman trying to call a dog and then she waved at me and pointed down the street. We didn't speak the same language, but we charaded enough to know that she had found Scrubs. He heard me call him. He looked at me. But he kept exploring. Kept peeing. Kept trotting, happy little tail in the air.

I eventually convinced him to come back to me. It's amazing. He all of a sudden decides he's had enough. He's tired. And he jogs up to me like he never ran away in the first place.

That stinker!

I put him back in the house, shut the door, shut the garden gate just in cast, and returned to Kristy's. A bit out of breath, down one pair of sandals, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

Later, I asked Senor Carlos to extend the gate. He smiled. Nodded. Patted Scrubby on the head.

Good dog.