Sparky

   I remember the excitement among my eight cousins and me as we all reached out to stroke the new puppy that peaked out from the box. I was four years old. At the time, I was unaware that this tiny black puppy-my dog, Sparky-would transform into a humungous German shepherd. Almost immediately after we got him, Sparky grew larger than me! He suddenly became so frightening. Every time I was with him he would chase me around the yard and jump on me, like a kid who still has not realized their parents can no longer carry them. When strangers passed by, my dog would go into a frenzy, delivering his deep, wild barks and gritting his sharp set of canines.

It took me years to get over my fear of Sparky. I think I was ten years old when I realized that I was finally as big as my dog. I could then withstand his excited leaps, and I found the greatest comfort in his thunderous bark, which told me that nothing outside could ever harm me. Because I could now fearlessly be near my dog, I began to see that this ferocious guardian actually loved being with me and my family. He loved being groomed, he loved being fed saltine crackers, and he loved our attention. No matter how old he got, he never tired of playing with us.

In the thirteen years of his life, Sparky did not say much. He did not complain about the renovations our home experienced, which halved the amount of grass for him in our front yard. Nor did he mind the addition of cars, numbering ten as of last summer, which further limited his space to roam and obstructed his complete vision of the area he guarded. All that resonated from him throughout the years was his immense love for my family.

It's hard to think about his last week alive. Up until the month before his death, he had been his playful self. He still barked at anyone who passed our gate, the same bark I remember hearing five blocks away growing up. It was this fierceness that always made me feel safe. But everything changed drastically in his last week. First, Sparky had a blood clot in his limbs that caused him to momentarily not be able to stand. His health spiraled downwards. I saw him struggle to bark at the mailman. His fur became disheveled; his eyes were bloodshot. It broke my heart to see my dog, who had been such a strong force of nature around the house, fall into such a weakened state.
  
Sparky died on October 29, 2009. That afternoon he woke up, unable to eat. I can imagine the difficult decision that my family had to make when they saw him so helpless. They had to sedate him to ease his pain while getting him in the car. That night, at 7 PM, they put Sparky to sleep.

My dog is gone. The puppy that peaked out from the box, the same dog that scared me by growing so rapidly, the same dog that taught me to overcome my fears and love him all over again -- is gone. It goes without saying that it hurts to lose someone you love. For most of my life, Sparky had been a patient member of the family. He was always there whenever I stepped outside, and I still get the urge, sometimes, to go out to the yard and play with him. He was always there to love my family, and now whenever my entire family leaves I can still picture him crying, as always, begging us not to leave him alone.   

I refuse to let the sadness of losing him overshadow all the happiness he brought me and my family. Instead, I choose to remember what a huge impact he was in my life. Sparky taught me to show genuine affection. He watched me grow and he accepted me as I am. For that I am grateful.  He was not only my dog, he was my teacher, guardian, and companion.