Books & Gifts for Thoughtful Living 300 P r t L a n d montHL maga ine I pat the stiff, patchy fur. “Kiss Scruffy.” “I am not much of a kisser. Sorry.” Lois pats Scruffy, plants one right on his dry little nose, says, “Poor Scwuffy, are your wittle feelings hurt?” Scwuffy stares at me unblinkingly with evil green eyes over Lois’s shoulder. I do not avert my own. A better name for the pup would be Mangy. Scrofulous. Count Scrofula. Unhappy Acres, the Senior Citizens Subsidized Housing, did not allow pets or live-in guests, for that matter. Scruffy, of course, was dead, the victim of an insanely untalented and equally insanely enthusias- tic taxidermist. I was temporary. Until I could get back on my feet, said Pastor Pete. But temporary. Not as temporary, I hoped, as old Scrofu- lous here. Nevertheless I kept on the look out for a taxidermy hobbyist among the old men mumbling to their pajamas in the common room when I passed through. Just in case some old duffer took a notion to stuff me. Pastor Pete gave me temp work in his food pantry. Sometimes I stacked cans. Sometimes I kept the ledgers of the food distribution. Sometimes I even ladled stew. And I looked for work in shopping adver- tisement papers, store window signs, Craig- slist, sometimes just intercepting house painters and carpenters–Hey, could you use another hand? Sometimes feeling Phoenix dogging me, or Phoenix’ ghost. I scoured the streets and pored over the papers and pounded pocky pavement after pocky pave- ment because I knew that I must. It was life or death absolutely, world with end amen must, to get away from Lois and Scrofulous. When I got back to Lois’s after one of these job searches, Scruffy met me at the door with his Philips-head muzzle and haunted-house portrait eyes. Comfortably clutched under Lois’s arm, he glared at me. “Do you want some lunch?” Lois asked. Lunch was PB & J on stale hamburger buns. Lois fed hers to Scruffy who appar- ently was feeling peckish. That was the day Scruffy began talking, Scruffy the talking dog. Scruffy the talking dead dog. Now that could make the mid- way show. Ladies and gentleman, step right up to see and hear Scruffy the talking dead dog. Tipped the fat lady right off the stage.