[Wo]man's Best Friend

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND NINE: The Pauper Says Goodbye

“A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.”  - Josh Billings

In my last post, I lamented the loneliness of Christmas and the hopelessness it can bring.  I closed my post with a quip about watching Blue Valentine and the poor dog that dies in it.  Not two minutes after posting, I received a call from my mother telling me that on Christmas Eve, they were going to put down my 16-year-old dog, Sparky.

Unable to think properly, I had to hang up the phone, allow myself to break down, and then call my mom back.  This now being Christmas, and about 17 hours since he has passed, I am going to indulge myself via blog and eulogize my baby.

It's a weird feeling to carry when a beloved pet has passed.  It's understandable to be upset when a beloved human passes.  It's a human life, after all.  But as I walked into work today, I had to carry the burden of pain without the relief of being able to call off work.  It's just a dog.

It's not just a dog.

I don't have a lot of memory of my childhood - a truth brought to light when my foreign exchange sister, Adriana, visited me last spring.  She recalled so many memories that her 17-year-old self had of which my 10-year-old self had zero recollection.

But I will never forget the moment I met Sparky.

Adri was living with us at the time.  This sets me at 10, as previously stated.  My mom had used her newly purchased cellphone to call and tell me that she had picked out a new family car and was heading home.  Remembering how awesome it was to see our new minivan for the first time, I ran to the garage when I heard it open to see what gem she had picked out.  When I opened the door, I screamed as I saw no car, but instead my mother cradling a two month old Shih Tzu in her arms.  He was small enough to cup in my 10-year-old hands.  You sneaky mom...

I had never had a dog before.  I had always talked about wanting one, but I didn't realize how much I really wanted it until I met our new little guy.

We spent the evening playing with him in the living room.  He was shy - a trait my mom later told me was a factor in picking him out amongst his hyperactive brothers.  With a 9:00 p.m. bedtime, I only had a few hours with the puppy before I had to go to bed.  And it sucked.

Mornings at that age left me about 15 minutes alone in the house before I had to catch the bus.  Jordan was in middle school, Adri in high school, my mom worked, and my dad was home on weekends due to his job.  My 15 minute ritual consisted of laying on the couch and watching the first segment of Rugrats until I had to catch the bus.  That morning, I held my little Sparky as he fell asleep nestled against my chest.  I thought briefly about skipping school.  The thought of putting him in his crate was too much to bear.  So I pushed my time with him to limit, set him in his crate, and dragged myself to the curb where I barely caught my bus.

Throughout the years, Sparky blossomed into the (completely objective) perfect pet.  He was friendly.  We often joked that if anyone ever tried to rob our house, we would be screwed.  He'd just lick them to death.  He rarely barked - unless a pesky rabbit hopped outside the window.  But even then, it was never annoying.  A few barks out of his system, and he was done.

When we took him for walks, he'd boast to giant German Shepherds at a distance, but cower away the moment he realized he was within biting range.  Like a wimpy kid trying to impress a girl by bad mouthing the bully just outside of earshot.

During high school and home stays in college, Sparky would spend the nights in my room.  I'd put my comforter on the floor for him.  As we both settled into bed, I'd often hear the sounds of him thrashing about - picking up the comforter in an adorably carnal fashion to get it just right.  And some times when he'd fall asleep first, I'd hear his little yips as he dreamed.  Probably of walks and Snausages.  And if ever he got lonely on the floor, I'd hear a moment of silence before he leapt onto my bed and always, always nestled as close to my body as humanly possible.  Usually pushing my legs apart creating the least comfortable sleeping position for myself.

But I never cared.

I wasn't a really happy kid in high school.  I'd spend hours crying in my room over teenaged angst.  Some times I'd leave the door slightly ajar.  And who would push his little nose in and comfort me?  You may guess Jordan, but no.  It was Sparky.  I'd clutch him close.  My tears would coat the top of his head.  And he'd lick my chin and take all the incomprehensible angst.  For the life of me, I can't remember what I was crying about.  But I will always remember the soothing comfort he brought.  That's the power of unconditional puppy love.

I am not exaggerating when I say there was never a single guest in our house who didn't love Sparky.  Grown men would fall to their knees and speak in baby voices as they entered our house and pet the living daylights out of him.  Always the sucker for attention but never a whore for it, Sparky obliged every giddy entrance.

As I returned home more seldom in my college and post college years, my parents would gladly take in my suitcase as I ran into the house to greet the Sparkster.  His tail would shake so happily that his entire back half would shake with it.  In later years, he became less willing to run down the stairs when he heard the door open - his bones getting weaker and weaker.  But there was no way I'd walk into my house without a greeting from my Sparky.  So I would go straight upstairs to my parents' bed (his new favorite hangout), crawl under it, and give him a kiss and hug.

In those later years, I began saying my real goodbye to Sparky each time I left for the airport.  I'd spend about 10 minutes cuddling with him on the couch or in my bed just in case this was the last time.  But for about 6 years, Sparky managed to stick around for each return.

My last visit home was Thanksgiving, 2012.  At this point, the damn little guy kept proving me wrong, so I made my goodbye brief.  Like the Boy Who Cried Wolf.  Even without a return trip in sight, I never thought this one would actually be the last.

Until I got that call Monday.  I woke up earlier than I anticipated on Tuesday morning.  I knew what time his appointment was.  I kept imagining my little baby, so old, so tired, so unknowing of his fate in a few short hours.  I stayed awake until I knew it was time, and I cried myself back to sleep knowing in my heart that he was no longer with us.

I'll never return home to see that little face, full of so much love.  Full of so much comfort.  It's hard to believe.  I don't want to believe.  I have so many wonderful memories with such a wonderful pet, but now I can't shake the haunting visual I have of his final moments, as described to me by my mom.  As his body filled with drugs that lulled him into a calm that prepared him for a peaceful end.  I'd give anything to have one more night of uncomfortable sleep with him shoved up against me.  I'd give anything to give him a bath, even if he was such a little shit about it.  But most of all, I'd give anything to have someone look at me with such unabashedly love that he would give to me.

He's not just a dog.  He's a living, breathing companion and instant smile vessel.  He was my friend, my family.  And now all I have left is the indelible mark that memory leaves behind.

Sparky Williams - August 28, 1997 - December 24, 2013