Finding a Much Needed Friend

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     The start of my fifth grade year was as awkward as one can imagine. I was tall, skinny and shy with a newly acquired set of thick, plastic framed glasses that fit my face about as well as a couple of saucers on an apple. On top of that, I was not yet into girls when it seemed like every other ten year-old boy on Earth was. I had been labeled an outcast from the start. It seemed I was destined for a year of loneliness unrivaled by any time my young soul had yet experienced. That was, until my birthday in late fall.

As I stepped off the bus onto our stone driveway in rural Ohio, I knew immediately that something was different. Dad was not out burning leaves or working on any of his half-finished tasks. Mom was not sitting on the porch reading her daytime drama. Even the wind seemed to die down as I traversed the two-hundred or so feet of space between the road and our home.

As I neared the still silent entryway to the porch, I could immediately pull from the air a muffled conversation coming from the kitchen. I knew my parents had been planning a surprise for my eleventh birthday by their sneaky actions over the last several weeks. However, my day of celebration was still almost a week away. What happened next will be something I will never forget.

I slowly slipped in the doorway and started to make my way to where I knew Mom and Dad had been whispering. Not knowing what to expect and half-hoping it would be a false alarm, I cautiously turned the corner. Then, with no warning at all, there was an attack from below. As I peered down, a smile erupted on my previously perplexed face. I was staring down at, quite possibly, the cutest puppy I have ever seen, chewing on my shoe. My parents were as thrilled as I was and we spent the next few hours deciding on a name for my new friend.

Spud, as we so cleverly decided to call him, got his name from those old beer commercials that used a pit bull for their marketing gimmick. Although our Spud was half Australian Blue Heeler and half Fox Terrier, his colors and markings resembled that of the famed beer baron. The name stuck and Spud then began earning his place in our history.

I remember so many days at school when things were not going well for me and Spud kept me going. Sometimes, I could barely stand the 45 minute bus ride home from school. The first thing I always did was to go in and take off my school clothes and then head out to the yard to play with my new friend. We would sometimes spend hours playing fetch or just chasing each other around the yard. School was forgotten. Sadness and anger was replaced by happiness and forgiveness.

Over the course of the year, Spud and I became inseparable. We would go everywhere we could together. I think he enjoyed it as much as I did. But, not everyone loved Spud like me. One night, I left him outside while Dad and I went into town. We returned to find that Spud had ripped down every shirt, sock, and trouser that had been hung on the line to dry. Dad was not impressed. About a month later, Spud stayed outside while the rest of us ate dinner. Later, when Dad went out to the truck to pull it in the garage, he noticed something hanging from the rear bumper. I can still picture the smoke rising up from his ears as he told us that Spud had single-handedly removed the wiring he had installed two days earlier that would allow him to pull around his new boat. It only gets better when you learn that, about one week later, a full three hours after Dad finished reinstalling the boat wiring, Spud once again (and more thoroughly) removed it using only his teeth and sly determination. Ah. I miss that dog.

To my regret, Spud's wonderful light that he brought to my life was cut short by his own doing. One day, while out riding my bike, Spud decided that instead of chasing me, he would chase a half ton pickup traveling at 60 mph. I'm sure Spud's intentions were good, but the truck got the best of him. I witnessed it all, unable to do anything about it. Just as quickly as Spud had entered my life, he had left it.

For weeks after, I was a broken-hearted kid with nothing to look forward to at the end of my long days. But, Spud's light was too bright to leave me forever. After my grieving stage, my friend came back to me. Not in physical form, but in the form of inspiration. On bad days, I would picture his small physique frantically jumping up trying to rip clothes from the line that was just a little too high for him. What a dog he was. I have no doubt that, if he made it to doggy heaven, the doggy authorities up there are trying to find a way to send him back.