Good Boy

Speck died in my arms this morning, just after sunrise. He held on just long enough to see the sun one last time. I was by his side to the very end.

They say that somebody isn't truly gone until we've forgotten them. So I ask that you all read a couple stories I remember about him, and that you remember him too. He deserves to not be forgotten.

There are half a dozen pecan trees around my house, and our dogs have always loved to eat pecans. The two trees closest to the house are regular pecans, while the other four are a special, longer variety. Of all our dogs, Speck was the only one who would eat those special pecans. He loved them. So every now and then I would go around and gather up a bunch of these things, then sit down somewhere with Speck and crack them open for him. We'd both eat them.

Now, I don't sleep much. So every now and then I would go outside and find Speck, who had to sleep outside the yard because none of the other dogs liked him, and we'd go sit under one of those pecan trees to eat pecans and watch the sunrise. Usually I would do this after my friends on Xbox Live had gone to bed, and I would do this at least once a week, usually more. The pecan trees had a really good yield this year, with hardly any worm-eaten pecans to be found anywhere, and I know Speck appreciated it. I appreciated having him around to keep me company, too.

The other story is a little better. You may have read a bit of it in my last journal. A week or two ago, I found Speck out by the little round field where my mom and sister practice barrels with their horses. He was in some tall grass where a bunch of old metal piping had been discarded, creeping around from one end of a big pipe to another. When he reached the end of the pipe he would stand there for a minute, perfectly silent and still, then he'd dive in like a rabbit into a hole so that only his tail and back legs stuck out. After a little while he'd wriggle his way further in, sometimes until he'd disappeared completely, and then he'd wriggle his way back out and stand there looking irritated before creeping around to the other end of the pipe.

You see, there was a big skunk that had been coming up around the house and spraying while it ate all the dogfood, which is near my window so I can make sure Speck gets his fair share. And since my window has an air conditioner unit installed in it, with a little gap for wind to howl through, you can imagine how much I hated this skunk. It would always be gone by the time I got outside, too. And Speck had just tracked this skunk back to its home.

Now, skunks are vicious little bastards. And this one was in the middle of the pipe, wagging its tongue at Speck and blowing raspberries. But Speck was having none of that. He went in there and apparently managed to catch hold of the skunk, only for it to spray him full on in the face. You've never seen a dog shoot out of a pipe so fast, or hack and cough so much. And boy did he stink. But he did find that skunk for me, and he immediately went back in there after it while I went in the house to get a shotgun. When I got back I called him over to stand behind me, then jammed the gun in there and let loose with both barrels. That was the end of that.

And yes, Speck stunk to high heaven and kept sneezing and coughing for a day and a half, but for a while at least he was one happy dog, and proud to be of service. He never gave up, he never begged, and he never whimpered until the end. He took everything this world could throw at him and he kept right on fighting until he couldn't fight a second longer.

He wasn't just a good boy. He was the best.