Rob Clarke
@robclarke00.bsky.social
1.8K followers 660 following 840 posts
Artist and Master of Scoot, the world’s sweetest all-American doggy. Scoot wants to show the world how happy he is being a dog, and how he doesn’t miss his old hum-drum life on two legs one bit. www.robclarke.net https://linktr.ee/robclarke00
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robclarke00.bsky.social
So here’s my idea for the opening credits of the Scoot and Master Show. I wonder what network I should pitch it to? ESPN, Animal Planet, BET? I hope someone picks it up ― after all, Scoot works for doggy treats and for me it’s a labor of puppy love.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Indeed, some citizens have even started a petition.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Some folks think Flapjack needs a good power wash and to have his fat penis locked securely in a cage.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Once again, the animator has gotten the dogs in the Scootiverse mixed up. Scoot is my well-behaved angel who has never seen the interior of the Dog Pound. It’s Flapjack who’s the town’s big-balled bad boy and who’s always running afoul of the Dog Catcher.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Eventually, Scoot stopped his wandering ways and now spends the day happily confined to my backyard. Some folks might say that it’s just a grassy prison with flowerbeds, but Scoot would say it’s his sanctuary in a big, scary world filled with cats, poachers, and automobiles.
robclarke00.bsky.social
If I were rich, I’d develop a video game set in the Scootiverse. It would be like the Sims with dogboys that need to be fed, walked, and kept happy. The game would be educational as well as entertaining— teaching the dog-curious about the responsibilities of being a pup parent.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Whoever made this video is a drunkard unfamiliar with the Scootiverse. It’s Flapjack, not Scoot, who resides in a filthy junkyard. Scoot lives in my backyard in a cozy doghouse surrounded by green grass and flower beds that mask his doggy smells. Even in a enclosed backyard cats are still a problem
robclarke00.bsky.social
Perhaps it’s wicked of me, but I find it amusing to think of Scott Cooper’s parents, ex-girlfriends, and co-workers seeing him in his new incarnation as my dog Scoot. But that scenario gets too complicated. I think it’s simpler if the universe just forgets about ol’ Scoot Cooper.
robclarke00.bsky.social
I’ve been on vacation for the past few weeks, so had to kennel my sweet dog Scoot. The poor thing gets such separation anxiety when I’m away. I did bring my sketchbook along to sketch some of the local wildlife.
robclarke00.bsky.social
During their weekly visit, after cleaning out his kennel, the Chief’s sons Rufus and Riley turn the hose on their stinky old man. It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.  Do you think they realize that the foul-smelling beast  was once their father?
robclarke00.bsky.social
Perhaps I should rename Scoot to Nipper the RCA mascot. I'm afraid it would give him the brain scramblies.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Here I’ve cleverly posed Scoot in homage to “His Master's Voice” - a trademark featuring a dog peering into a gramophone. Nowadays, Scoot can hear my voice praise or scold him through a tiny speaker embedded in the lock held by the chain around his neck, even when he’s dreaming.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Here’s another video that slanderously depicts Scoot living in a filthy junkyard. Clearly, the animator is an old drunk who doesn't know what he’s talking about - Scoot lives in my backyard, with lush green grass for him to do his business on, surrounded by flower beds to mask the odor.
robclarke00.bsky.social
With his even temperament, being strong, loyal, loving, and yet not clingy or demanding, the Chief is everything that folks want in a dog. Hopefully, he’s passed these qualities on to his sons so that one day they will follow in their old man’s paw prints.
robclarke00.bsky.social
This is all hypothetical (dog)food for thought because the technicians at the Rescue Society do a thorough memory purge during the pupification process. We want our doggies to be happy doggies.
robclarke00.bsky.social
I know it’s wicked of me, but I sometimes imagine the dogs at the puppy park suddenly “waking up” and remembering their former lives as men. One minute they’re happily sniffing each other’s stinky buttholes, and the next they’re gasping for air and frantically stumbling around on two legs.
robclarke00.bsky.social
I must have been having a senior moment when I made this animation. It’s Flapjack, not the Chief, AKA Rusty, who’s the town horndog. Flapjack’s the only dog that doesn’t have his penis locked securely in a cage and is so unmonitored that he can mount anything that moves.
robclarke00.bsky.social
The Chief loves it when his sons, Rufus and Riley, visit him in his kennel behind the fire hall. Maybe he recognizes his progeny, maybe he just knows the lads always bring him his favorite kibble. Personally I find it touching to see an old dog go full puppy around his family.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Actually - Scoot imprinted on me the moment he opened his eyes after his dogification at the Rescue Society. We like to think of that day as his birthday. If he could still speak, he’d tell you that he’s been my happy hound dog for his whole life.
robclarke00.bsky.social
While going through my dusty archive, I found this illustration of my time working on the factory floor. Sometimes it’s best not to know how the sausage is made.
robclarke00.bsky.social
And nowadays an AI assistant can help today's busy dog owners.
robclarke00.bsky.social
One day I’ll get my Scoot inked with info on how to return him to me, his loving Master, in the event he wanders off or, heaven forbid, gets dognapped. I guess I’m hesitant to mark up his unblemished skin —I don’t want him to end up like the neighbor’s dog, “Spot”.
robclarke00.bsky.social
When he was a man, the Chief led his sons in prayer before every meal. Now as a simple, honest doggy, he still gives thanks, but to a very real Master and not some abstract concept. He’s truly thankful for his tasty kibble, no matter what it’s made of.
robclarke00.bsky.social
That seems highly likely — the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Poor ol’ Flapjack’s dumpster diving days are numbered. Our town’s restauranters are fed up with finding his massive dog turds on their property. At least raccoons, while being a nuisance as well, don’t shit where they eat. His trail of steamers will make him easy to track down.
robclarke00.bsky.social
Nowadays, whenever Scoot finds something stinky, he feels compelled to have a thorough roll in it. It’s hard to believe that in his former bipedal life, my pungent pooch was fastidiously clean— diligently showering and applying deodorant to his hairy man-parts each and every day.