Connecting Maine people with the outdoors for over 18 years. visit us at outdoorsportinstitute.org PORTLAND Our City… …Your Way! portlan dmaga in e.com SUBSCRIBE TO New England’s North Star s u m m e r g u i d e 2 0 1 7 3 0 1 “RRRRR, I want your sandwich.” “Now, Scruffy,” Lois said, “you already had your sandwich.” “RRRRRR.” I stared at Scruffy’s uneaten sandwich and choked down another mouthful of my own. “Lois, you should have gotten a lob- ster for a pet. Lobsters are immortal unless they die of unnatural causes. Did you know that? They’ll scuttle around on the sea floor until you boil and eat them.” “Scruffy wants to bite you.” Scruffy nee- dled into my forearm with his immobile mandible. “Bad Scruffy,” Lois said and tapped him on the nose. “Bad, bad Scruffy.” S cruffy began tailing me everywhere. When I opened the bathroom door, he’d be hunkering there, staring at me. When I drank my coffee, he’d be right there begrudging me every sip and gulp. When I sat on the couch, he planted him- self right in front of me as if about to go for the jugular. Cujo. Stuffed Cujo. It might have been comical like The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, but it was creepy. Come to think of it, The Ghost and Mr. Chicken was creepy. Actually Don Knotts was creepy. Lois was not helping. Apparently Scruffy had hired her as his interpreter. “Scruffy hates you,” she translated. “Scruffy says you drank milk from the carton. Scruffy says you don’t close the door all the way when you go to the bathroom.” Finally I sought out Pastor Pete. “Do you know how Scruffy died?” I had begun to think that Lois had assembled Scruffy from recycled dog parts during an electrical storm while villagers with torches stormed the dog pound. “Not sure,” Pastor Pete said, “but I think natural causes. Everything okay?” I explained to the good pastor that I thought it was time to find me a new home. The moment I opened the door I sniffed trouble. Scruffy stood on point at the threshold, followed me into the kitchen, daring me to swill from the carton. Thun- der rumbled. Lightning split the skies with glee. I flashed on Phoenix and the fire, and my forearm hairs bristled. “Scruffy says you ain’t going nowhere.” I stared at Lois’s eyes; they had the fixed intensity of Scruffy’s. Had Pastor Pete called her? How else could she know? I reached