Guess What Spike Did?

 Every boy needs a dog, and when our oldest was almost 3, we had the opportunity to bring home an 11 week old Bloodhound that he named Spike. His ears were so long Spike would often trip over them as he attempted to keep up with “his little boy.” The two were inseparable. The loved digging holes together: our son would pick the spot and scoot a bit of dirt around with his boot, and then Spike would use all four of his giant “shovels” to excavate a hole. The would wrestle and tumble. Our oldest didn't have a single shirt or jacket without a little triangular hole in the middle of the back—and his sleeves were always jagged. He and Spike were always going on adventures. Our son was always trying out Spike's nose to find treats he'd hide in the yard. When they'd get tired, one could often find them both curled up sleeping inside Spike's doghouse. Spike also loved chasing our son on his John Deere tricycle through the mud puddles. They could always be found dirty, happy and adventuring together. Spike was our son's favorite subject to talk about. “Guess what Spike did?” was repeated dozens of times throughout the day. “Spike ate a ball bearing!” “Spike ate a flip flop!” “Spike chased a mag pie!” There was never a shortage of things that Spike did. And it was always the first thing he'd ask friends or relatives when we'd see them: “Guess what Spike did?” Everything in our son's life revolved around Spike. So when we started school he hated writing, unless it was about Spike. He wrote a kids book entitled, what else, “Guess what Spike did?” And when he wanted to enter a photo in the fair—it was Spike's pictures that won a ribbon. I'd never had a bloodhound before, but there could have been no better dog for us. As our son grew—so did Spike. In his prime he weighed in at 160 lbs with paws that measured almost 5 inches across. He was a small horse, with 4-wheel drive and anti-lock traction—which was amazing when he'd pull the kids on their sleds, but made it impossible to move him away from an opened bag of cat food. He earned the nickname Slobber-buckets due to the excessive amount of slobber and goobers that would collect around his large droopy jowls that would fly in every direction when he'd shake Farmer’s Fate Farmer’s Fate his head. But my son never seemed to care. Torn clothes and sticky slobbers were just part of the adventure. “Guess what Spike did?” became part of our family vernacular. One “Guess what Spike did story involved our pastor coming up our front walk on the phone with a member of the congregation, when 160 pounds of barking-slobber emerged from his dog house. Our pastor called us from outside the gate, saying he'd have to call back the person and apologize for what may have come out of his mouth when he was running for his life in front of Spike. Spike had been hit by a car when he was younger and as a result had 3 pins and a plate in his leg, and it wasn't the straightest, which made his gait unusual and not graceful. But what he lacked in grace, he made up for in enthusiasm. And he was always so helpful when people would jog by our place, he'd always gallop alongside the fence and cheer them on with his loud bays—which always encouraged them to run faster and burn more calories, for which I'm sure they appreciated! This summer, our thirteen year adventure with Spike came to a close. His red dog house sits empty—leaving us with memories and tears. Guess what Spike did now? He broke our hearts. In the midst of our grieving, a dear friend wrote this poem about Spike for my son:

So this is where we part, my friend,

and you'll run around the bend.

Gone from sight, but not from mind.

New pleasures there you'll surely find.

I will go on; I'll find the strength,

life measures quality, not it's length.

One long embrace before you leave,

share one last look, before I grieve.

There are others, that much is true

But they be they, and they aren't you.

And I, fair impartial, or so I thought

will remember well all you've taught

Your place I'll hold, you will be missed,

the fur I stroked, the nose I kissed,

and as you journey to your final rest

take with you this...I loved you best.