My Dog Spot

I really only had one dog growing up.

We had a "starter" dog for a few weeks. a small terrier that we borrowed from my Mom's parents.  But it was a mean little dog that snarled and bit at us, and we gave it back to my grandparents.

Then when I was eight my Dad took me and my sister to the dog pound.  This was not a humane society or a no-kill shelter.  This was a place where the dogs had a few days and then, as more dogs came in, they would be killed.

I know there must have been other dogs there.  But I don't remember them.  I just remember seeing this mostly white puppy with a few brown and black spots, looking up at me sweetly, wagging that amazing tail.  What was it?  Beagle?  Pointer?  Spaniel?  We didn't know and we didn't care.

We took him home, and I got it in my head that I should be teaching him tricks.  The little dog gamely tried to do what I was asking, but I soon discovered it was more fun just to be with the dog than to try to get him to be Lassie or Rin Tin Tin.

I named the dog.  Using my incredible powers of imagination, I named him....Spotty Whitey Strait.  Fortunately for all concerned, it quickly became just Spot.  A common name, I know.  But all the other dogs that had been called Spot didn't matter.  This was our Spot, and it would be the one I always thing of when I hear that name.

Spot was a loyal and true friend.  He was always warm and affectionate with people.  My mother did more training of him than we did.  He never went beyond the kitchen into the living room.  He learned to beg, and would do so quietly sometimes when we ate supper.  He was on a chain outside (my one big regret is that I could never convince my parents to fence in the yard).  Sometimes he would be out there, see something in the distance, and would sit up and beg for long periods.

Kids being the amazing creatures that they are, got wind of how much I liked my dog.  So on the school bus they would compose songs about how "Spot" was gonna "get run over by a steamroller".  I tried getting angry with them, hitting them back, crying, trying to turn it into a joke back at them, trying to take it stoically.  Nothing I did made them stop.  They found a weakness and they were going to torture me with it for all the time that I would ride the bus.

Spot was excellent with people and was not therefore very effective as a guard dog.  He would sometimes be quite combative with other dogs.  One time while at a trailer rally, Spot was chained to the front of the trailer when a collie passed too close by.  There was a huge kerfuffle before they were parted, and I found part of the collie's tail that Spot had apparently bitten off.

But fortunately, we weren't other dogs, and his loyalty and kindness to us were without precedent. He had some health problems over the years, including a severe case of heart worms.  But the vet performed an experimental, fairly new medical procedure on Spot, one that I believe was even written up in journals, and he lived many years after that.

Spot was there for me, through elementary school, through middle school, through high school, even on until I went into college.  I would come home and he would be there, still happy to see me and bond with me.  We made a secret pact, that he would always be there for me, at least until I got married and started a family of my own.

Spot lived until I was 24.  He was sixteen years old.  I had been married just a few months, when his heart and passion finally gave out.  He had done his duty.  It was now time for him to rest.

I loved that dog with all my heart and soul.  Rest in peace, my dearest, bestest friend.  As long as I live, you will not be forgotten.