I was a sad little seven year old strapped in the back seat of my parents Monte Carlo crying my eyes out because we had just left the pet store…with no puppy…again.
I left my little birthday buddy behind; an adorable cocker spaniel born on the same day as me.
It was fate…this dog was meant for me.
But, as my mom coaxed me out of the store after making me hand my best friend back over to the lady I knew it was a grim situation.
My older brother was ten years old and wiser. I looked up to him. So, I did whatever he did. As he was begging and moaning for that little doggy in the window I was chiming in with a high pitched PLEASE MOM AND DAD!!!!!!
We sat in the back seat of this big brown boat and pleaded our case all the way home. Our eyes were shifting back at forth. The first glance at each other with determination and anticipation, then to our parents with the saddest eyes you have ever seen. How could they resist the two curly haired kids in the back seat that were longing for a Lassie?
My dad finally burst out and said, “Tomorrow, tomorrow when you get home from school you will have a dog!”
We gushed with excitement like two adults that just won the lotto. This was big. We worked so hard for this moment.
I didn’t believe my dad completely. I thought he was trying to shut us up since we were making him insane in the membrane.
But, that Monday on the school bus my brother and I couldn’t contain ourselves. It was like Christmas morning but only four in the afternoon and…not Christmas.
My brother ran off the bus with me trying to catch up right behind him shouting, “Do you think it will be there?”
“Yeah, dad promised!”
We ripped through the house like a tornado and in my mothers hands laid the tiniest, teeniest, cutest puppy in the world.
He wasn’t a cocker spaniel, he wasn’t a she, but it was perfect.
The Furillo family added a mutt to the clan. My brother and I battled over who should name our new addition. He was set on Spike, and I was set on Brownie. I kept smelling his nose and if you ask me, even to this day, all new puppies noses smell like warm brownies (Or, maybe I just always want brownies).
I lost and my brother was victorious. From this day forward our little mix breed beauty shall be hailed as SPIKE.
The name didn’t fit him. He was small and cute. My brother watched too many cartoons. I thought the name was unfitting.
But, I thought wrong…oh yes I did.
As we grew fond of Spikey (We childproofed his name) he was growing a really big pair of brass ones.
This little doe eyed ball of fur that was the size of my father’s hand was testing us BIG TIME.
He was eating money, dollar bills to start and for desert some twenties.
If you put your socks on the floor for a second, they were gone. Only later to be ripped from his sharp canine teeth with holes everywhere.
He peed in the house because he was male and always marked his spot. He tore up pillows. We left for the mall and came home to feathers and fabric scattered all about the halls.
He was a madman on the loose.
My mother would scream with horror like her first born was just taken by strangers. She was so over this monster.
You could love him and hate him all in the same breath.
My mom and dad kept threatening to find him another home. I can remember begging and pleading with them. We were terribly worried they were going to send him to the man’s house with the chicken coup and crazy cars.
So, we did what any seven and ten year olds would do…we wrote a contract and signed it for our parents.
And this is exactly how it read, well, almost, my brother in cursive and me in very big letters:
“Why I Want Spike”
1. becuse we love him (Michael)
2. to play whith him (me)
3. becuse he makes us happy (Michael)
4. for conp any (me)
5. to make a good home for Spike (Michael)
6. to hug him and kiss Spike (me)
Now we promise to take good care of him. and to take him out. (Michael)
and I am not letting you take our dog. (me)
Mike Janine (Both)
I followed my brother in the kitchen with our promise in hand. We were like two little attorneys stating our case.
We won.
We got to keep the mutt, take him out, put up with his crap (literally), and love him to death (literally).
A few days later just when everything was going really well and Spike was laying low, he committed the Cardinal sin.
It was Christmas and the tree was trimmed and beautiful. Everyone was gone and he was HOME ALONE.
My mother walked in and the Christmas tree was crashed to the ground. Green and red balls were scattered all over the house. They were shredded by puppy teeth and paws. The ornaments were all broken to pieces on the floors.
My mother was livid. I think she turned red like Rudolph. She was ready to kill and I mean kill this dog.
My heart beat so fast I never saw her like this. She was angry and sad, she was screaming, and crying all in one. Spike was a goner.
He had his last supper. There was nothing left to chew. Nothing old and now nothing new.
She phoned my father and it was official. Spike would be gone in the morning.
We cried and begged her all night long to please forgive him. We promised the world. Nothing was working.
My dad walked in later that night from work and by the grace of GOD and only GOD he managed to save my mother from her hysteria and save our dog from getting kicked out of the house.
It ended up being a Merry Christmas. Spike went on to chew little things here and there. After his terrible two’s he was a great dog. He was a great friend.
We still laugh about our first dog, Spike. In the end his name really fit him. He was a spike in my mom’s side forever. But, she loved him so much and always will.
That little mixed breed runt that my dad paid twenty bucks for cost us a fortune over the years. But, he was worth every penny just in memories alone.
Spike's last night was spent in my bedroom. I had loved him for fourteen years. He saw me grow up from first grade on.
He laid next to my bed not in it, which was unusual and he had an accident in the hall that night (unusual at this age but not when he was young and marking his territory).
I knew something was terribly wrong. The next afternoon I went with my dad to the vet. We made an emergency visit.
Spike was riddled with cancer. One of the saddest days of my life. My family was destroyed. I knew he felt the love because he spent his last night with me.
It's been years since he passed and I still think about that little rascal. He chased my neighbor on her bike all the way down the street, bit my brother's friend, chased after his basketball in the backyard like it was a living thing, and barked so much you wanted to put a muzzle on him.
He was a rowdy dog no doubt about it. But, he was loveable and sweet too. He was my dad's best friend. My mom's, my brother's and mine. He was always ready to snuggle or sing you a tune. Yes, he was a singing dog.
He always gave me kisses with his wet nose and all. He protected us like we protected him.
Spikey, I hope you are in Heaven sitting on Poppop’s lap and chewing a bone the size of you, buddy. And, if nobody throws you a bone I will send up a Christmas ball and some twenties for you to feast on.
You always were good “conp any” and I hope you knew how hard we fought for you “becuse” we always loved you. And, don't worry you certainly marked your spot...forever.
