When we first got him, he liked to sleep
in one of Dad's work shoes. After all, he was only 6 weeks old and
quite small. Often he cried at night. We solved that by putting
a wind-up clock in his box at bedtime. The ticking sound comforted
him, putting an end to his whimpering.
Of course I am talking about our dog.......Spike. Dad loved the
TV cartoons that featured a big, tough bulldog named Spike, so he
named our first dog Spike. Actually, he had another dog later on
and that dog was Spike II. But the original Spike grew from that
whimpering little beagle/hound mix into a 75- pound champion watchdog
and family protector.
A funny memory I have of Spike is the first time Dad took him
for a walk on a leash. I guess he felt the need to assert his male
pride on the nearest tree. He selected a rather wide one just a
house or two away and proudly sauntered up to that shag bark maple
and thrust his hind leg up. Well, the tree was just too big for
his still small puppy body. The angle of his leg threw him off balance,
causing him to fall sideways onto his back, “pee-ing”
straight up in the air and all over himself, right in front of the
whole family. He walked hangdog back into the house and got his
first bath. Our poor little baby was so embarrassed. But it did
not stop him for long.
Spike soon outgrew his old box and took to sleeping at the foot
of Mom and Dad's bed, that is until he was able to jump on the bed
and snuggle up against Dad and Mom. They loved it. In the morning,
we would find him with his head on Mom's leg or somehow wiggled
into Dad's arms. He loved to be in contact with family members,
nestled right up against us. When I came home from school, I might
take a quick little nap lying on my back in my bedroom, and there
was Spike, between my legs with his head on my belly, content as
all get-out.
He wasn't too interested in dog food, so soon after he got out
of the puppy phase, he simply ate whatever the family ate. I mean
this literally. If we had say chicken, potatoes, string beans and
lettuce, that's what he had....on his own plate and set out on the
plate just like ours. He even had a salad bowl! He neatly ate around
the plate and finished his salad as well. When Mom made tomato gravy,
he just sat by the stove with visions of meatballs dancing in his
head.
And did he love corn on the cob! We would put a little butter
and salt on an ear and hold it sideways so he could eat it with
his front teeth. Mom would laugh as he neatly moved across the corncob,
taking out a chunk at a time, finishing the whole ear. Family members
who had dinner with us roared when they saw Spike eat corn.
Dad would walk Spike all around our Newark neighborhood, any time
of night, without fear. Spike tolerated no one getting near Dad.
One time while I was with them, Dad came upon a bunch of wise-cracking
teenagers who asked him if his dog bites. Dad simply said to Spike,
"Show them your teeth!", whereupon Spike bared his teeth
and growled. I almost came apart laughing as the teenagers quickly
scattered. "Evening gentlemen", Dad intoned as we continued
on our way.
This dog had more angles than a pool table. At Christmas when
Mom would put the gifts under the tree she had to give Spike special
instructions. Every year we wrapped some toys for him and he knew
it. When the presents were there under the tree, Spike would go
exploring to sniff out which ones were his. Sometimes we would catch
him trying to nibble the paper off one of his presents. But he was
told by Mom to wait, which he grudgingly did.
When it came time to open the gifts, Dad would say, "You
know who goes first...Spike....OK boy, get your presents!".
We'd all have a good laugh as he never failed to find his presents.
Usually, there were 3 or so toys wrapped up for him and he tore
the boxes apart with great gusto to extract them. After we watched
him have his fun we then opened ours while he happily chewed on
his. This ritual went on for years.
Did you know that a dog can tell time? They can-----somehow. Spike
certainly could. Every day at about 4:15 he would become uneasy
and start pacing, going to the back door. He knew Dad was going
to be coming home from work; and this happened from the earliest
days that Spike lived with us. He was a fast learner.
Dad carried a small basketball air horn in his car to give Spike
a special signal that he was near. To get down 5th Street where
we lived was one way heading out to Bloomfield Avenue, so Dad had
to go down 6th Street a one way in the opposite direction and come
around the corner at 3rd Avenue. When he was behind our house on
6th Street, Dad would give a blast or two from that air horn and
Spike soon came to associate that blast with Dad's car pulling up
front. When Dad came walking up the alley, you could hear Spike
beagle-baying all the way down the block. His daddy was home and
the whole neighborhood knew it.
My favorite Spike story deals with a very funny episode where
my Dad got me real good. I don't know how he knew I planned to come
in late that night, but I am sure Spike was in on the gambit.
With his superior watchdog skills, it was hard to sneak into the
house late without him barking or maybe yipping to be petted when
you got home. Before I left for my evening of fun, I stuffed a couple
of Spike's favorite dog yummies in my shirt pocket. My girlfriend
saw them and asked what they were for and I explained my plan to
sneak in late by bribing Spike at the door not to bark or yip.
When I arrived home, very late of course, I carefully opened the
front screen door and scratched on the bottom of the front door
until I heard Spike sniffing furiously on the other side----
"It's me boy, don't bark", I whispered, "Good boy,
I got something special for you".
Well that yummy stuff did it and he let me in without barking
or making any noise. I did not turn the lights on. I gave Spike
his treats and a kiss and proceeded to head for the bedroom in the
dark. All of a sudden....trip,.... fall,... splat!!! I went head
over heels onto the floor! My father was laughing up in the bedroom.....
"I got you Mr. Sneak." {actually, he called me a few
other choice things.}
I turned on the lights and found that Dad had placed the two footrests
for the couch around the door so I would have to encounter one or
the other---
"How the hell did you know, I screamed back!" laughing
myself.
"You'll know when you have your own", he said with great
wisdom. Then he
said to the dog, "Nice job Spike!", whereupon the dog
barked and ran upstairs to be with him. I was double-teamed, and
still don't know how it was done.
Dogs teach you as much as you teach them. I learned an incredible
lesson from both my Dad and Spike one late summer Sunday afternoon.
Spike always pulled at the leash when taken for a walk. He loved
to sniff and smell everything along the way. I asked Dad why he
couldn't be trained not to do that. Dad simply explained that Spike
was like a little kid who strains at his parents’ control,
pulling hard on their love, just to make sure there was something
pulling back at the other end. It's a form of false bravery.
All the while he was giving me his words of wisdom, Spike was
pulling at the leash something awful. To demonstrate his theory,
Dad simply dropped the leash. Spike tumbled forward, looked around
somewhat confused and walked back to Dad and sat at his feet, looking
up for a pet. Dad reached down and scratched his neck and picked
up the leash----
"Parenting", he said, "Is knowing when to drop
the leash, and when to pick it up again."
I am still amazed at the profound analogy taught to me that warm
afternoon, by a man who never made it past the 10th grade, and a
middle-aged dog. How I thought of that lesson over the years as
I raised my daughter.
It was a sad time for the family when Spike passed. For fourteen
years he cared for us unconditionally and gave us his love and protection.
Don't let anyone tell you differently, dogs have souls.
Dad had Spike cremated and his ashes sealed in a small copper
box that sat on a table in our living room along with his collar,
dog tags, and our favorite picture of him. Right behind this collection
was our family statue of St. Gerard, and a votive candle.
Spike is with Dad now-- that copper box buried with him, 20 years
later. I imagine them walking and meeting old friends and neighbors.
My wife and I have had dogs as long as we have been married, and
every one has slept in the bed with us. We wouldn't have it any
other way. I talk to my dog now like I talked to Spike. I have no
doubts whatsoever that he understands me. And judging by this dog’s
antics, he could have been related to old Spike,……then
again,…….I wouldn’t put it past Spike to try and
make a comeback.
I’ll see you later boy.
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