Sparky

My husband and our dog didn't get along most of the time. It's ironic, really, because Greg was the only one Sparky liked at first.

We surprised our two boys with the Dachshund puppy about 13 years ago. Unfortunately, when Greg put the dog carrier down to let them peek inside, this ball of brown fur growled menacingly at them. Even I couldn't get near him.

Dachshunds are fiercely protective and slow to trust anyone new. But after a week of Mom feeding him and the boys rolling around with him, Sparky decided he liked all of us. But he still preferred Greg.
He missed him so much during the day that he was beside himself when he heard Greg's truck pull into the driveway. Sparky would run around the house, under and over the furniture doing what the boys call his "doggie dance." When Greg finally walked through the door, Sparky was so overcome that he gave Greg the best greeting a dog could think of. He peed on his shoes.

Because I love dogs, I'll tolerate a lot, but I didn't appreciate Sparky's token of affection. Greg appreciated it even less. While he was yelling at the dog, Sparky did a peculiar thing. He peed some more. That bought the dog a ticket to the yard for the night.

Our vet told me that this was Sparky's way of showing submission. If he's relieving himself, he can't attack. In other words, Sparky was showing Greg that he's the leader of our pack. It was really a compliment. Then, if Greg yelled, Sparky assumed he wasn't doing it right, so he'd do it some more.

By this time, the boys were calling Sparky their brother. It became harder to consider giving him away. We found that the less Greg interacted with the dog, the better. Over the years, Greg learned to ignore Sparky and I learned to use a carpet steamer.
Actually, we all mellowed with age. Sparky did his doggie dance less often and finally had trouble walking altogether. When Greg came home, Sparky would lift his head in acknowledgment, but that's about it. Greg will plop down in a chair, look at him with a heavy sigh and quietly say, "I hate that dog." No more big outbursts, no big scenes.

Last year, Sparky's health spiraled downhill. Sometimes he couldn't even stand and if he did manage to get up on all fours, he walked around and around in circles. One night, as Sparky lie on his bed, I heard Greg talking to him in soothing tones. Peering around the corner I saw my macho husband sitting on the floor, stroking the dog's fur. Sparky managed a limp tail wag in return. The old bond was still there.

Later, we were awakened by the sound of Sparky howling. I found him on the kitchen floor, laying in his own poop, unable to get up. It was obvious that the moment we'd been dreading was here. As our final act of kindness, we'd have to put him to sleep.
I made the appointment and carried him to the car. Before we went into our vet's office, I let Sparky finish off my Starbucks coffee (which he always liked). While waiting in the outer office, Sparky paced in wobbly circles, around and around with no particular destination in mind.
They called us in and when I saw the operating room atmosphere of this room I had never been in before, I burst into tears. The vet's assistant told me she'd give me a moment, so I picked up that fat, confused dog, rocked him on my lap and told him I loved him. I placed him carefully back on his feet and left.
I feel badly that I couldn't stay with him to ease him into the next world, but I just couldn't do it. I didn't want to see his lifeless body. I wanted to keep that memory of him doing his doggie dance, laughing as he flew, under and over the furniture, full of life and happy that the whole family was there with him.