It’s called Dead Scotty

She spends a lot of time milling around. And getting her from the breezeway through the garage to the dog room to the out of doors frequently requires a lot of dancing and ducking and blocking and skedaddling, which is a great trick indeed. But the thing she does that gets our closest attention is “Dead Scotty.”

One day it will be true. She’s 11 after all. But she gets us at least once or twice every day. Sometimes you have to wake her up in the morning. When you see her you think “Oh no.” Then she scrambles to her feet for the dance routine of the day.

Afternoons, we bring her upstairs to visit, and she hangs with Raebert and shrugs off the cats. Then you look over and see her and think, “oh no.”

She’s got Devil’s eyes. They laugh when you disturb her corpselike pose.

Scotties. Devil’s eyes. Laughing at you and the universe.

You cannot escape.