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Oliver
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Two Dads: Oliver Scott and Herb Scott |
Consider yourself at home
Consider yourself one of the family
We've taken to you so strong
It's clear we're going to get along
Consider yourself well in
Consider yourself part of the furniture
There isn't a lot to spare
Who cares? Whatever we got we share!
Lionel Bart wrote these lyrics for the 1963 musical adaptation of Charles Dickens' novel Oliver Twist. It were these lyrics I heard playing in my head when trying to come up for a name for our Oliver when he was a puppy. He was one of seven pups born to Peewee. I had made up my mind that I was going to keep one puppy from the litter – but I couldn't decide. I determined I would let fate make the decision: whichever puppy was the last one after all the others were chosen.
The day came when the selection process was down to two. Oliver and another smooth silver dapple (their father was a silver dapple longhair; Peewee was a smooth b&t) who had much more dappling but was also much smaller. It was a young couple who came that day. They doted over both puppies. The young woman asked her companion which pup he preferred. He liked Oliver's size. She – as women tend to do (I can say that since I'm one of them) – was drawn to "the little one." "He's such a baby…" she cooed. I knew when she said that, the gentleman had no chance of getting his strapping young lad.
And so it was that Oliver was the remaining pup out of the seven. He was the least nicely marked of the dapples (all but two were dappled) and he was the largest of the bunch. I felt just a little sorry for him that he was the last one – that everyone else had been picked. It was while I was in this brief state of pity for him (I say "brief" because, after all, he was going to live with us, so I knew he would have a great home) that the "Consider yourself at home..." lyrics began playing in my head. After about the fifth round of it, I decided on the name Oliver. And his AKC papers were registered with the name Consider Yourself At Home.
Unlike Oliver Twist, Oliver has never had to "pick a pocket or two" to survive. However, he does have something else in common with the orphaned lad of Dickens' tale:
Oliver As A Pup |
Food, glorious food!
Hot sausage and mustard!
While we're in the mood
Cold jelly and custard!
Pease pudding and saveloys!
What next is the question.
Rich gentlemen have it, boys: In-di-gestion!
Food, glorious food!
What is there more handsome?
Gulped, swallowed or chewed
Still worth a king's ransom
What is it we dream about?
What brings on a sigh?
Piled peaches and cream , about six feet high!
Oliver Twist and my Oliver each have an insatiable desire to eat – anything. Food, glorious food. The more the merrier. He occasionally goes by another name: Rot Gut. Some men take a shot of vodka after dinner. Oliver, more than once in his life, has had to have a chaser of syrup of ipecac. He has found ways I thought only a crafty raccoon would know to open food containers. I think one time he used a blow torch.
My big-boned boy (he's not fat, I say) is the oldest (13) of the Board of Directors… since his mother Peewee passed on last July. He is also "considered at home" in more homes than mine. He frequently takes "vacations" to my dad's house for several days (sometimes weeks) at a stretch. Where "Grandma Edie" (my dad's wife) dotes on him with more food, glorious food. And when my mother was terminally ill, Oliver was the one to lie patiently next to her in her at-home hospital bed. I didn't dare go home to visit without bringing him along to put in bed with her.
We've chosen to highlight Oliver this month in honor of Father's Day. He is dad to Rhett (and to our beloved Stubby). I know what he'll want in celebration of the day: Food, glorious food.
