How It All Started: Roscoe

There was Roscoe.

Every successful organization eventually acquires someone who has absolutely no authority...

but somehow believes he is in charge.

For the Bad Hound Gang, that's Roscoe.

Roscoe is shorter than Winchester.

Shorter than Dean.

Closer to the ground.

Built more like a compact hound than a long-distance athlete.

None of this information has ever reached Roscoe.

As far as he's concerned, he is approximately nine feet tall.

He is the unquestioned commander of the pack.

Winchester works for him.

Dean works for him.

I probably work for him.

The neighborhood squirrels definitely answer to him.

They simply haven't been informed yet.

Roscoe entered the family with the confidence of a dog who had already decided how the organizational chart would work.

It did not matter that Winchester was bigger.

It did not matter that Dean had years of hunting experience.

Roscoe looked at both of them and apparently thought:

"Good. My staff has arrived."

His greatest enemy quickly became the squirrel.

Not one particular squirrel.

All squirrels.

Every squirrel represents a personal challenge to Roscoe's authority.

A squirrel crosses the yard?

Security breach.

A squirrel climbs a tree?

Cowardly retreat.

A squirrel sits outside the window eating something?

Deliberate provocation.

This led to Roscoe assuming his most important position:

Director of Homeland Squirrel Security.

Much of his day is spent at a window.

Watching.

Waiting.

Judging.

Occasionally issuing a bark to remind the local wildlife that surveillance remains active.

But where Roscoe truly earned his place in the Bad Hound Gang was during the escapes.

Roscoe usually isn't the mastermind.

He doesn't have Winchester's athletic ability.

He doesn't have Dean's willingness to travel until he crosses county lines.

What Roscoe has is something far more dangerous:

Fear of missing out.

If Winchester goes...

Roscoe goes.

If Dean starts running...

Roscoe suddenly remembers an urgent appointment somewhere beyond the fence.

Does he know where they're going?

Absolutely not.

Does that matter?

Absolutely not.

Roscoe's philosophy is:

"I don't know what the mission is, but I'm pretty sure I'm leading it."

Unfortunately for him, Roscoe has one major operational limitation.

His legs.

The spirit is willing.

The cardiovascular system occasionally disagrees.

We've had escapes where Winchester is somewhere conducting reconnaissance, Dean is disappearing toward BFE...

and Roscoe is fifty yards from the house looking completely defeated.

Open the truck door?

Roscoe suddenly remembers that leadership sometimes means knowing when to accept transportation.

He'll hop in like:

"Exactly as I planned."

Roscoe also developed another escape technique uniquely suited to his stature.

Why jump a fence...

when you can simply go under it?

One evening, while I was trying to contain the other boys, Roscoe approached a weak point along the fence and performed what can only be described as a military low crawl.

Belly down.

Legs moving.

Gone.

I watched this tiny hound slide beneath the perimeter like he'd spent six months training for infiltration operations.

I went after him.

Roscoe entered Activated Mode.

Nose down.

Selective hearing fully engaged.

Mission underway.

I eventually returned home to repair the breach because I knew something Roscoe hadn't considered:

He's Roscoe.

He wasn't going far.

Sure enough, as I finished the repair...

There he was.

Standing on the wrong side of the fence.

At the same hole he'd escaped through.

Except now...

I'd fixed it.

He stared at me.

I stared at him.

His face seemed to say:

"This wasn't like this earlier."

He had escaped prison...

then returned to the prison...

and discovered someone had locked the door.

Classic Roscoe.

He is loud.

Opinionated.

Suspicious.

Fearless beyond what his dimensions would reasonably support.

And completely convinced that every adventure undertaken by the Bad Hounds occurred because he authorized it.

We let him believe it.

Because every pack needs somebody with more confidence than common sense.

Winchester may be the gentleman.

Dean may be the hunter.

But Roscoe?

Roscoe is management.

Just ask him.

And that completed the trio.

Three completely different hounds.

Three completely different personalities.

One shared talent for questionable decisions.

The Bad Hound Gang was officially complete.