Re: From a Tramp to a King

Absolutely a magnificent tribute to the king of your castle. I know it was probably a bittersweet job to sit and type out this post, but I am sure glad that you did.
I am saving this one.



Zeke wrote:
Nobody knows how long it's been. Some say eleven years, some say twelve.
But everyone remembers that it was a Sunday night during the World Series.
We don't remember who was playing, but it was Sunday, that we know.

My wife needed something from the store and I volunteered. Part of the
reason, back then I still snuck off for the occasional Kool Filter King.
And I do mean occasional. To keep them from going stale I used to wrap 'em
in Saran & Ziplock, and stuff them way back in the deep part of the freezer.

I drove to the store and stopped at the park on my way home. It was there,
while looking out over the empty baseball diamonds, puffing peacefully, that
I heard something. It was faint, barely audible.

Looked behind me. Nothing.

Looked across the lot. Nada.

There was a second parking lot adjacent to this one. It had some cars,
trucks and a few short busses that belonged to a "special needs" school.

I walked towards this lot, trying to locate the source of the sound. When I
came around a row of cars and trucks the sound grew louder...

There!

About 200 feet away... a cat.

OK, we have all these battles around here about "dog people" and "cat
people," and yeah, I'm guilty of sometimes teasin' them cat people. But
truth is, I ain't a dog person or cat person, I'm an animal person. As I
imagine most of us are.

But the wife is allergic to cats, so there's no chance of me bringing one
home. If a cat needs food, water or a vet, I'll help it and then I'll help
find it a home, but that's it. I looked at the cat, hoping this one
wouldn't need much. I had food in the car and a World Series to watch. I
took a few steps closer...

"Wow," I thought, "what a strange looking cat."

Strange sounding too... high pitched... yelpy...

It almost sounded like... it was... a dog!

A skinny little puppy the size of a small cat. A dirty, malnourished little
mutt of a thing, no bigger than a puddy-tat.

I walked over, slowly. He ducked under a truck. Dasm! Did he think I was
gonna get down on my belly and try coaxing him out? That was not gonna
happen. I squatted, couldn't reach him. Got down on all 4's, couldn't reach
him. So I got down on my belly and tried coaxing him out.

He was too far to reach in the middle of the truck. Funny, he wouldn't even
look at me. The entire time he looked away, pretending like I wasn't there.
I tried like hell to reach him, to get his attention, but I just couldn't.
Then, when I backed off he looked right at me. Funny little dog.

And then something else happened. When I got up to leave I could feel his
aloneness. This whole entire planet and he had nobody.

I went home, put away the groceries, sat down. It was the 1st inning, the
game had just started. "Man," I said, "I just saw this poor little puppy at
the park. All alone. Looked hungry, but wouldn't let me touch him."

My wife was up in a flash!

Who, what, where, when, how?

She grabbed her keys and left.

Five minutes later she was back. "We need food," she said, and got some dog
food down from the shelf. (We already had a dog). She ran out again, this
time with me and the kids in tow.

We got to the park and the wife whipped up a bowl of food. She had a
yardstick and used it to push the bowl under to the middle of the truck (who
thinks of this stuff?). The dog wolfed it down.

She used the yardstick to pull the bowl towards her and added some more
food, this time leaving the bowl closer to the edge of the truck. The dog
scooched along the asphalt to the bowl, I reached in and grabbed him.

My wife threw a blanket over him and we ran to the car. We started driving
away when somebody remembered the dog bowl under the truck. Screeech! A
kid ran and got it. Another ran and got the bag of chow we'd forgotten.

While driving home we all said, "OMG!!! This dog reeks!!!

WHAT WAS THAT SMELL???

Insecticide?

We got home and I got him into the bathtub, got down the flea & tick shampoo
and started wetting him with warm water. Ugh! The water off his coat was a
sickly grey and it smelled really bad.

Yes, it was insecticide, and he was smothered in it. The dog had either
gotten into it himself while scrounging for food, or (more likely) someone
had poured a bottle of it on him. It was more than just getting sprayed by
the stuff. His skin had absorbed it.

I soaped him up three or four times and rinsed him off good. The entire
time, the stuff was pouring off his body and he was shaking, even though the
water was nicely warm. When I lifted him out of the bathtub and wrapped him
in a towel his entire body was vibrating like maracas. This pup was weak,
scared and sick. But he had eaten, there was hope.

We took him into the family room. Of course our other dog - the spoiled
one - didn't know whether to wag his tail or bare his teeth. One look at
the feeble pup, however, and it was clear: the interloper posed no threat.

We settled in to watch the game; fed them both and made sure they did their
things out in the yard. To our relief, the puppy was already trained. We
did not know how old he was, but figured about four months, based on general
appearance. So... somebody had trained him. We realized, we had to make an
effort to find his owner(s).

When it came time to retire, we decided the best place for the puppy was in
a dog-crate, so we got one down from the garage. We outfitted it with
blankets, chew-toys and a transistor radio. Young dogs like the reassurance
of a radio playing softly in the background.

Next morning - a few hunert bucks poorer - we found out our new puppy was
six months old and would have died had we not come along. The vet said he'd
been living on the street for several days, perhaps a full week, and showed
signs of possible abuse. We had to keep him away from our other dog because
he had worms (two or three different types, including tape worm).

We left the vet with full vaccinations and medicines, wondering what was
next? Did he have a family? Did somebody missed him? Some kid? What had
the owners done to this dog? Would the dog be safe if we gave it back?

Jeez...

The days came & went. Skinny puppy was eating and growing but shaking. He
shook like a leaf at the slightest interruption. A noise, a shout, a fast
movement, loud conversation. Anything beyond the drone of a TV or radio put
him into vibrate mode. My wife would wrap him in a blanket and rock him
like a baby. After 30 minutes or so he'd shake less, but he'd still shake.

We put signs up in the 'hood, watched the newspapers for lost dogs. Every
day we felt that little twinge of anxiety, is today the day he gets claimed?

Somebody won the World Series.

Soon it was Halloween. Every time the doorbell rang, puppy - whom we hadn't
named yet, for fear of having to give him up - ran to the front door. When
I opened it and the kids yelled "Trick or Treat!" he backed up and ran off
like he'd just seen Dracula. Somebody said, "man...that dog is spooky."

Spooky settled in. Dasm, he was a cool little mutt! *** ugly, yet
ragamuffin cute. As the days passed he shook less, but the shaking never
left entirely. It stayed with him his entire life, rearing it's head
whenever he became anxious. Still, for now he was safe.

He spent the next few weeks and months learning to fly. To trust and
believe that he was part of family Zeke. Once he got enough food in his
belly he started to grow. And grow and grow! Soon he was bigger than our
other dog. He never became what one would call a big dog, just a mid-sized
dog. What was his breed? God knows. A stewpot. The Spook was everydog.

But his bark! Man, his bark was something to behold! If you were the UPS
man or some "born again" on our porch, you woulda thunk "Rin-Tin-Tin" was on
the other side of the door. One year 20 homes in our neighborhood were hit
by an organized burglary ring. Our neighbors just laughed. NOBODY on OUR
courtyard was EVER gonna be robbed with THESE two dogs around.

Spooky was a rounder, a leaper and a bounder. He didn't just learn to fly,
he perfected it. He would RUN through the entire house jumping on all the
furniture. From couch, to ottoman to bed, he would FLY through the air like
he'd been launched from a canon. He was a surface to air to surface missile
and quite proud of himself! An overfed, long-haired leaping gnome.

He was always the first to greet you at the door after a hard day, and when
we'd all come home at the same time after a long time gone, he would be wild
with joy. He would run all over the house, tail wagging in ever faster
circles, until pretty soon the tail couldn't keep up with itself anymore,
and the circle pattern would explode into an erratic series of "stirring"
motions. That boy could have painted a masterpiece with that tail.

He loved women & kids, feared men, and lived for the UPS guy. "Just one
shot at him. Just one shot! I'll rip his lungs out, boss!"

Over time, it became obvious that the insecticide had been no accident, that
he'd been beaten before being discarded, and that he'd never get past it.
All his life, he shook when frightened and he was frightened all the time.
All his life, he looked to us for reassurance. Was he still wanted? Would
we throw him out too? All his life, he did whatever we asked of him. He
was a good companion and a wonderful watchdog.

We tried to make him forget his early life. We took him and his brother on
long walks through the neighborhood, to the baseball diamonds and dog parks.
We fed them well and brushed their fur. We petted and hugged them, played
ball with them and loved them.

The other dog has never known fear. His entire existence has been love.
But Spooky never forgot where he came from, and I suppose that's why we
loved him in a very special way. Because for all the good times, happy
times, the running and jumping times, he was never more than a few steps
from insecurity. He was wonderfully good natured, kind, and funny, but
underneath it all was this constant insecurity.

One night he leapt onto our waterbed and made a little spot for himself.
Unlike our other dog, Spooky's coat was not thick, and he was often cold to
the touch. The heated water must have felt good, because he didn't jump
down 'til morning. After that there was no negotiating with The Spook. He
was a waterbed dog for real. 98.6 degrees and dreaming. The kids used to
laugh...from living under a truck, eating out of garbage cans, to all you
can eat, sleeping on a heated waterbed.

From a tramp to a king.

He became a happy dog, but he never was a healthydog. Unlike the other mutt
(15 years young this year) Spook always had some kinda ailment. From
sprains to eye infections, hernias to digestive tract issues, thyroid gland
issues to diabetes, that boy paid some dues.

One day, summer '06, we looked up and saw he was losing weight. The next
day it looked like even more weight had been shed and something else... he
was bumping into things. I wondered if it was cataracts, but did not know
what would cause the weight loss. The third day he looked downright skinny.
We took him to the vet. "Full blown diabetes!" the vet said. "He's blind
and sick. Let's put him on insulin right away!"

I asked what you guys thought? Got 20 posts back. Each one said "STOP!
Don't do it! Don't do like we did, chasing our dog around with a hypo."

The vet gave Spooky a poor prognosis w/out insulin. He said "maybe" six
months. I guess the tramp did not agree, for he lasted 18.

And what an 18 months it was!

Sure, he was blind, but his other senses took over. He could hear, smell
and taste with the best of em. Once he had acclimated to his blindness he
began expertly navigating his way through the house. He avoided all
obstacles. He couldn't run down the hallways and leap up onto the furniture
anymore, but he could hear, smell & taste better than our other dog;
providing him with a nice advantage on "Crumb Patrol."

When the UPS guy was at the door he would peel off, slip-sliding to a stop
on the hardwood floor and blasting out his mighty bark to the world! The
bark that made you think there was a 150lb mongrel on the other side.

Spook was never a problem. Even blind & diabetic, he was a dog owner's
delight, with his tail goin' in circles & crazy figure 8's.

On Sunday the wife and I went to a Superbowl party. Our oldest was away at
collitch, our youngest @a SB party of his own. When the wife and I came
home we noticed that Spooky wasn't looking good. He was vibrating again and
his legs were weak. We wrapped him in blankets and did what we could, but
we could tell something was wrong. Our other dog knew it, too.

Later on Sunday evening he started "pacing." He was disoriented, confused,
bumping into things again, but he would not lie down. By 10:00pm it was
obvious he'd had some type of major event. Maybe a stroke, maybe an
ischemic event, whatever it was, it now owned him. His limbs were shaking
and he could barely stand, yet refused to lie down. He wouldn't eat or
drink. I gave him some ice cubes that he licked, the melting ice soothing
his dry throat. We lifted him up onto the waterbed and hoped for the best.

Around 3:00am I woke to the sound of scratching. Somehow, Spooky had
managed to get down off the bed. He was standing at the bedroom doorway,
scratching on the door. This was his way of letting me know that he needed
to go outside. Here he was dying, yet a gentleman to the end.

I got up and walked with him down the hall. He was slow and wobbly, bumping
into walls & doorways, stopping to get reoriented, walking a little more.
Finally, I swooped down and picked him up, carrying him the rest of the way.

I opened the door to let him out and the outside air rushed in. Dasm, it
was cold for California! I had no shoes or socks, no shirt, just boxers.

(NOT a pretty sight, LOL!).

I left the door open and went down the hallway to the bathroom. Came back a
few minutes later, no Spook. Waited a little and began to worry. What if
he'd crawled off into a corner of the yard to die? Dogs will do that.

I stepped outside, eyes adjusting to the dark. There he was, in the middle
of the yard, looking weak and disoriented with his silk-strand thin coat of
fur blowing wildly in the wind, yet holding his head up to the sky.

They say dogs can smell one hundred times better than humans. You smell a
tree. He smells the PARTS of the tree. The leafs and buds that are alive
on the branches, the ones that are dead on the ground below, the bark, the
inner core, even the birds nesting there.

At 3:00am on a cold California night, on a dirty patch of ground under the
light of a million dead stars, a little salt & pepper dog called Spooky
stuck his nose up into the air and decided to not bring it down until he was
good and ready. And he'd let me know when that was thank you very much.

He was taking in the night. All of it. The coast-chilled air; the wind
through the trees; the trees themselves, croaking under their own weight;
the sounds in the distance. He put his nose into the night sky and held it,
taking in one last taste of the world before he had to go back inside and to
what was waiting for him there.

I walked over and petted him. His coat so sparse now, almost bald. His
legs so spindly and wobbly, eyes sunken, chest heaving. *** the cold.

We stayed out until I could tell he was about to faint, scooped him up,
tucked his cheek into my chest and carried him inside.

At 6:00am we woke to find him on the bathroom floor. He had gotten down
from the bed again. Now he was on the cold linoleum, leg-shaking like David
Byrne. I lifted him onto a blanket we kept at the foot of the bed for our
other dog. Didn't want to put him on the waterbed, for fear he'd fall off.

A short while later, our youngest son came in and said his goodbyes. He had
to be at school, but he & Spook had a good fifteen minutes together. Every
once in a while we would walk by and say his name. He would try to look up,
but he couldn't. His expression though... he heard us.

Around 8:30am on Monday morning the lights went out on a skinny little pup
found eleven or twelve years ago - nobody's quite sure - living under a
truck. I picked him up blanket and all, placing him on his favorite spot on
the waterbed. Didn't have to worry about him falling off anymore.

I called the vet and arranged to bring him in later that morning, but first
I had to get on a conference call from 9:00 to 10:30am. The call was
boring. This one guy actually said to another guy: "I've got a double-e, so
I understand this better than most." Well, gag me with a milk bone treat!

It dawned on me during the call that Spooky had come to us during the World
Series and left after the Super Bowl.

Finally, the call ended. I wrapped Spook in his blanket and left for the
vet. When I came back, the house was so quiet. Quiet and confused. I
don't know who was more pathetic, me or our first dog, both shuffling around
like we were lost in space.

A one dog house is certainly no home.

I was shaking just like 'Ol Spooky when I washed and dried his dog tags.
They're small and slim, so I placed them in a photo album. I peeled back
the plastic and put them on a page with pictures of the boys and their
friends, the dogs of course, the parties, the fishing trips to crazy places
like Ontario & Saskatchewan, the sports teams they played on over the years.

My wife agreed, that was a real good place.

.

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