Dogs of Del Mar: Scout
- Glenn Warren | 27th Street
Our dog Scout Warren died this week. She was almost 16. Scout was friendly, sweet, curious, sometimes irritating, (mostly) disobedient, insistent (on getting what she wanted), independent, whimsical, and impossibly cute. Above all, she was a member of our family.
Our son Scott was 9 when I joined the Foreign Service in 1996.Part of the “deal” was that he could always have a dog. A couple of years later, in Buenos Aires, our Springer Spaniel, Mistral, died. Scott wanted a new dog and within a week he and Randee saw a litter of Beagle puppies at a pet shop near our apartment. The puppies were all male; Scott wanted a female and the next day the shop brought in the litter’s one female. Scott was immediately smitten and Randee bought her. Scott named her after Atticus Finch’s bright, plucky little girl. The name proved to be most appropriate. Randee refused to tell me what she had paid for Scout. Throughout the years, in moments of feigned pique after one of Scout’s misdeeds, I would tell Randee that however much she had paid, it was too much. The truth is that Scout was priceless.
Scout quickly demonstrated her independence and curiosity. During a barbecue on the grounds of the ambassador’s residence in Buenos Aires, she wandered off into the residence itself (under renovation) to give herself a tour. She interrupted a visit of VIPs who were inspecting the new construction; soon thereafter a regulation went into effect that all dogs in the residence garden had to be leashed and with their owners at all times.
Scout was an escape artist. As much as she liked us, she realized there was an exciting world (with possibly food and treats) outside the walls or fences of our houses. Shortly after we moved to Harare, she took advantage of an open gate and disappeared. Panicked, I quickly mobilized our housekeeper and neighbors to look for her. When I found her at a nearby shopping center, I called to her. She looked at me and started running the other way. Who was I to interrupt her few minutes of freedom? (As a native Argentine and as part of an American family, Scout understood—and mostly ignored commands in—two languages. If told to come, she would cock her head and look as if to say, “What’s in it for me if I do come?”)
On one occasion in Nairobi, Scout got out of our yard and made her way to a housing development about a mile away. Neither Randee nor I was home and I learned of her escape when I got a call from a woman who had found her. I called our gardener, Nathan, and asked him to retrieve her. He called back and told me the woman was demanding money. I told Nathan to negotiate the ransom and bring her home. He did and we scolded Scout. As usual, she was unrepentant.
No reminiscence of Scout would be complete without a reference to food. Like most Beagles, she inhaled her breakfast and dinner. She demanded treats throughout the day, and harassed us until we complied. But she could also hoard. Scott visited Harare with a friend from college who had about 20 energy bars in her duffel bag. When we returned one day from an outing, all the energy bars were gone. We searched the house and yard to no avail. The next morning two empty wrappers appeared in the garden. We again searched the yard to see where she might have buried the others. She warily watched us. We failed to discover any and the next morning there were two more wrappers. This went on for over a week. Scout never confessed.
In 2012, our odyssey ended and we returned to the house we had left in 1996 in Del Mar. It needed refurbishing and there were workmen coming and going. A gate or door left open for 20 seconds was all the vigilant Scout needed to escape. And that’s how we got to know our new neighbors. At one time or another, she wandered into every house on the block. We’d get a phone call: “We have your dog. No need to hurry. She’s made herself at home—and she’s so adorable.” When we picked her up, she always had that look—“Why are you interrupting my afternoon out?”
Scout had a genuine charisma and we joked that she had become a rock star in Del Mar. Whether in an outdoor café or on the beach, she was the focus of attention. So many people, not observing the wrinkles in her neck or the white in her face, would remark: “OMG, what a cute puppy.” Scout, once again responsible for a smile, would prance away, oblivious.
Scout lived her life fully to the end. The day before she died, she was running after me at the beach because she knew I had treats. She became ill suddenly the next day and died without prolonged suffering.
Scout stole our hearts. She made us laugh, brought us joy, and enriched our lives. We will miss her.