Scooby stories and Sophie's adjustment

I have been overwhelmed with the sympathy and concern from Facebook friends--and others--on my loss of Scooby. As I've answered a few individual emails, Scooby stories have come flooding back into my mind. My friend Jeannie said  she was sure he was running through fields, chasing rabbits. I had to remind her he was the squirrel-chasing pro. He'd lie in the driveway, but when he saw us drive up, he'd run off after a squirrel, real or imaginary, as if to say, "Look, Ma, I'm doing my job." The time he got out just as kids were arriving for school across the street--I was terrified he'd dart out in the street with all those crazy-driving moms or scare some small child. When I discovered him and called he pranced up to the front door with the air of "Did you want me, Mom?" Scooby had a good berth, and he knew it--he'd had some bad ones before in his life. Another time I saw him across the street, sniffing the garbage. Instinctively I called to him--wrong thing to do. He came bounding toward me. Thank heaven, the car that was going by was going slow and had good brakes. Once a friend was determined to show me he'd sit on the front porch enjoying the companionship, without a leash. She didn't know Scooby like I did--when an innocent neighbor, walking a dog, came along across the street, he was gone in a leap and a bound. When I first got him, I hired a dog trainer. I asked when Scoob would calm down and, because of the Aussie breed, the trainer said, "Oh, when he's about ten." He was spot on.
Since Sophie will be an only dog, at least for a while, I'm praticing making her more house friendly. She's spent a lot of her life in the yard with Scooby, but now the yard is boring for her. Let her have the run of the house last night, and she chewed a pine cone from a basket by the fireplace, then discovered the good authentic Indian basket that holds her overflow oys and tipped it over to get at them. I'm just grateful she didn't chew the basket This morning I took her into the bathroom while I showered--she proved a hindrance. Wanted to lick the water off me while I dried, then lick off the lotion. And later I gave her the cardboard cylinder from an empty roll of paper towels. She carried it around proudly until she began to destroy it--then she was furtive, as though she'd found a forbidden fruit. Colin says she's still a puppy--but she's 15 months old. Do I really have to wait until she's two?
Colin is much against my getting a new dog, argues that Sophie would enjoy being an only dog (did he always wish to be an only child?), and I should socialize her. I'm trying, I'm trying, and it's true--she does crave human companionship.
Difficult days of adjustment ahead, but I do appreciate all the love and support for me and for both dogs. And let me add that Scooby had the kindest, best care ever from Dr.John Minnerly and the staff at university Animal Hospital. They went overboard in caring for both Scooby and me. My gratitude toward them know no bounds.

Scooby's home!

Sophie welcomes Scooby home. Well, she had to check, didn't she?

This morning my neighbor, Greg, went with me to pick up Scooby at the vet, and I was grateful for his help. Scoob is much better but had to be lifted into the car. His back legs give out all the time, though he is now walking. When he's not nervous or excited, he does pretty well. The vet tech said he's learned the trick of people with poor balance--walk close to a wall. I laughed and said I do that all the time. When I repeated that story to my friend Jeannie, she said she had this vision of Scooby and me going single file next to a wall.
The truth is not so funny. Scooby is on his way to recovery, and the vet tells me he will continue to get better. But he's far from there. He falls a lot. When I put his food out, he fell and rolled over just taking the one step down from his doghouse. When I wanted to bring him in, I tried to help, but he avoided me and made it down the step but was clearly afraid to try the steps into the house. When he finally came close enough for me to put a leash on him, he went up the steps willingly--and went splat in the doorway. I soothed and petted and said, "Hey, you did it. That's what matters." He fell four or five times between the back door and his bed, and I had to lean down and hoist his back end up--hardwood floors are clearly not easy for him.
He is disoriented and acts for all the world like he's had a stroke, but they assure me it's an inner ear thing--the second bout he's had. The vet says he may never have another one, but just in case I'm loaded with tranquilizers, anti-nausea pills, and anti-motion sickness pills. If it happens on a weekend, my hope is to nurse him through until my vet is open--no more emergency clinic, though I'm grateful for their care. It was, however, the most expensive care ever--12 hours cost over three times what five days of boarding at the regular vet did. And more important my vet knows the history and the dog. I am so grateful to University Animal Hospital.
Sophie is glad to have her buddy home again, but I think she knows he's fragile. I didn't see her jump on his back end one time--her favorite way to get him to play with her--and she didn't bark at him the way she often does to taunt him.
In time we'll be back to normal, but it will take a while. 100+ temperatures this week won't help. But I'm optimistic and grateful.