Sparkey had been abandoned twice before we brought him home. This may have been because of tendency to jump as high as your head and lick you as you walked in the door. Or maybe it was his insistent barking at every single pedestrian, squirrel and dust mote. Or perhaps his habit of eating most of my left shoes. Maybe it was the panic attacks. I was never sure if his severe separation anxiety was a result of or the reason for his abandonment, but it did mean I spent hours holding a crying and shaking dog in my lap convincing him we weren't going to leave him.
But. Somehow, this go-go dog knew when I needed him. When I was mourning lost babies, he sat quietly in my lap and let me rock him and cry for all the hours I needed. On a tough day after commuting hours to graduate school he'd be waiting for me ready for a walk and smiling at me with all his love. He learned tricks. He learned to chew bones instead of shoes. He cuddled his favorite stuffed animals in the bean bag chair he chose as his own. Sparkey was happiest with his people and we were lucky enough to be them.
We made friends in our new city. Sparkey charmed them all. When we finally brought home a baby he stood guard and alerted me to her every noise and movement. "Dog" was my daughter's first word. No one could make her laugh like Sparkey. She took to feeding him from her high chair.
As my children grew up, Sparkey calmed down. He became patient. He comforted them. They loved to take him on walks. He slowed down.
I should have known. Over the years, Sparkey had developed so many fatty tumors that it was hard to see where they stopped and the dog began. His hearing was not so great. His eyes were cloudy.
On Halloween 2013 Sparkey wasn't getting up. By then end of the day he was gone. I can't write the details of the day. My hairy brown-eyed baby. Gone. We've adopted a cat and two dogs and there's still a giant Sparkey shaped hole in my heart. I've started and stopped writing about him more times than I can remember.
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