CAROLINE'S CORNER: WHERE IN THE WORLD WAS SCOUT?

Scout is my long, lean and lanky granddog who lives in balmy Mobile with his owner Sharla and her two roommates. Sharla, Angela and Brook, all recent Auburn graduates, are trying to make their mark in the world, and Scout is only trying to see the world. The three girls and one dog live in a little house surrounded by live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss and camellia trees decorated with variegated candy cane blossoms in mid-winter.

The girls rented a house instead of an apartment so that Scout could be free to be a dog. The owner of the house built a small picket fence for Scout. The fence is barely taller than the dog and he could easily jump over it, but he doesn't know that yet.

A friend helped Sharla build a doghouse, to protect Scout from the tropical rains. The door is too small and he has to hold in his stomach to enter his house, so he prefers to sit on top and view the world from his lofty position.

The "people" house is even decorated with Scout in mind. The young ladies purchased a black Naugahyde sofa and love seat, a la 1960s. The yellow lab is permitted to rest on the sofa occasionally, and his hairs can be easily removed.

When Naugahyde furniture was in vogue, humorist Lewis Grizzard wondered how many little naugas were used to make a Naugahyde sofa. Scout must lie on the sofa and dream of chasing rabbits and naugas.

On the eve of Christmas Eve, the family and I traveled to Mobile to spend the holidays with Sharla and Scout. On the trip south, I anticipated filling a fruit jar with camellia blossoms and walking barefoot in the sand at Dauphin Island, perhaps wearing a camellia blossom in my hair. I had no idea of the horrible night that was facing us.

Upon our arrival in Mobile at 10 p.m., Scout and I scurried outside to cut our blossoms. While I chose the flowers by moonlight, Scout made a dash for freedom. He zoomed into the darkness and left his grandmother standing awestruck that a dog could be so gone so fast.

I went inside and shared the bad news, and the night from hell began. First Sharla drove and I was the look-out person. Every lion statue looked like Scout, and old Mobile is filled with statues of lions beside front porch steps. Behind every white picket fence I saw Scout. Each dog that I heard bark was Scout. Because I was hallucinating, I was replaced as a look-out and was taken home to wait on the doorstep for Scout.

Once I thought the ordeal was over when I saw a yellow dog traipsing through the fallen magnolia leaves. "Come in, Gatsby," Sharla said. Gatsby was the wrong yellow dog. He came in, sniffed Scout's food and refused to share any information of the lost dog with us.

Once more the family left on a search, and I sat on the steps and passed the time by thinking about literary dogs in the neighborhood. Scout is named for the hoyden in "To Kill a Mockingbird." The person who named Gatsby had obviously enjoyed F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby." I sat and imagined what dog might appear next. The time seemed to pass faster if I tried to remember Faulkner characters or Eudora Welty characters that might become dogs.

Time stood still as I remembered the Gatsby line, "What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon? And the day after that, and the next thirty years?" I thought of opening Christmas presents and my wrapped gifts of photographs that I had taken of Scout. The reminder of the dog and what Mama had allowed to happen on the eve of Christmas 1994, would always be with us.

Finally, at 5 a.m., seven hours after he had left, the wayward dog returned. Boulware found him wandering in the front yard. His usually gray paws were pink from walking for hours. He reeked of an unspecified foul odor, and he immediately collapsed in front of the Naugahyde sofa. Sharla smothered the yellow rogue with hugs and kisses, and I felt a great sense of relief because I was no longer the villain.

I have no regrets that my dog walking privileges have been taken away. I would much prefer that my daughter have a pet goldfish anyway.

I will always wonder what Scout experienced during his escapade. Did he attend a Labrador literary conference or have a philosophical discussion with the homeless men in the park down the street? Did he meet Jem and Dill and visit Boo Radley's tree? Only Scout knows for sure.