Goodbye, Mr. Spike

Mr. Spike

Richard Budig

I offer, for your reflection, a painting of Spike, a fine little Peekapoo, who died at 1:30 p.m. Friday, February 04, 2005, after a lifetime of struggle against forces much larger than he.

He was a found dog, brought to us by a lady on her way to work one morning in May two years ago. She found him out on the road in front of our place dodging traffic and looking worried.

He had been abused when we got him. That was apparent for several reasons. Although recently having had his hair cut short and being dipped, he still carried the dead bodies of about 50 large ticks that had long been affixed to him, and he was seriously underweight.

Within a week of his arrival, he exhibited a cough we mistook for kennel cough. A Tulsa veterinarian examined him, and told us another story. His larynx had been partially crushed. The right side of his forward lower jaw was missing, as were the teeth that used to be there. Also, the forward bow of his lower jaw (just below where the dimple is, or is supposed to be in your chin) was broken through so that his lower jaw “wagged” when he tried to bite anything, such as strangers, or food. The only tooth visible in his mouth was the large canine on the left front side of his lower jaw, and thus, my name for him: Spike. I had always wanted a dog named Spike, and this seemed like the right dog at the right time.

Since Spike couldn’t talk, we never knew whether his partially crushed larynx and missing jaw and teeth were the result of human or animal encounters. With a heart as big as his, I hold the fantasy that he got his injuries fighting something bigger than he for some noble cause known only to brave little dogs.

Due to his injuries, he had trouble breathing, and about every six months we had to take him in for a check up and more meds. He was on something that kept his air passages a little less swollen, and every now and then, an antibiotic that helped clear his lungs.

Winter and cold weather seemed to be the most difficult for him, and while this winter was not particularly bad hereabouts, the cold and damp kept him closer than usual to the fireplace in the living room. He also spent a lot of time with me at the computer. He liked to lay next to my keyboard where I could feed him sunflower seeds, and pet him between vexatious bouts of writing.

Last weekend was wet and drizzly, and by Wednesday, he was shivering, coughing and getting worse by the hour. Two trips to the vet in two days didn’t help. His last trip was today, and X-rays showed his enlarged heart had become larger still, and his lungs filled with fluid. It’s time, the vet advised, but I’ll leave that up to you. I nodded assent.

She brought him in the little room with the I.V. already in place. I said, Hi, Mister Spike, and he looked at me with his big eyes. I felt that he knew. He stood next to me while I stroked his blond hair. When I nodded, the vet slowly pumped in the fluid from the syringe. In less than 20 seconds, Spike sat down. I held him close to me, and when he started to lose his front legs, I helped him lay down. I held and gently patted his blond head, as I had many time before, and as he went completely limp, and I said, Goodbye, Mister Spike.