Dog Spicy Autobiography

My mother taught me how to pick out the dog that's right for you. You just stare into the dog's eyes, and if you can see his/her soul then they're the one. That's how I chose my dog, Spicy, when I was a child. Being a kid, I thought I was just getting a new toy; something that I could play with in the absence of human friends. I couldn't imagine that I was gaining a new family member. Nor could I imagine the immeasurable pain and suffering I would feel in the hour of his death.

My first memory of Spicy is when I went to the pound with my father. I was scanning the cages, scrutinizing every detail of every dog as seriously as a mother studying her newborn. That's when I saw him: his Oreo-colored fur, soulful brown eyes, and furiously wagging

I suppose everyone thinks that about their own dog, but it's true! Whenever I came home from school he was there, ready to play. He used to race around the front yard, chasing nothing in particular, intent on squeezing as much fun out of the day as he could. He very quickly became a member of the family. He woke up when we did, went to sleep when we did, and sometimes ate the same food we did. One of my fondest memories is sitting on the front porch on a warm summer evening, watching Spicy eat an ice cream cone. Yes, you read that correctly! I don't remember how, but Spicy developed a taste for Dairy Queen's ice cream. Occasionally we would buy him one, and he would position the cone between his paws and lick the ice cream until it was all over his muzzle (and nose!). Afterwards, he would give us a look that seemed to say, "That's right! I own you people!" However, the best memory I have him is going to The

Both of my grandparents on dad's side had died several years earlier. I remember being sad, but not too sad. After all, death is a part of life, isn't it? Besides, I was a teenager; emotions sucked! But with Spicy, it was different. This was my dog, someone I had grown up with and nurtured my entire life. The possibility...no, the fact...that he was dying was so painful. Yet, every day he would limp more or simply lay on the floor, panting. When my mom told me that was a sign of pain, I knew “The Day” was coming; and just like that, it came.

I remember waking up in the morning with my parents and literally feeling sick. God help me, but a part of me wished that Spicy had died overnight, so I wouldn't have to go through this. We were all crying before we even got to the vet. While we sat in the waiting room, I stared at the various children playing with their new pets. I wondered if they knew what they were getting into. Finally, the vet came out and announced that everything was ready. As we walked down the shortest long hallway in the world, it felt as though I were walking towards my own death. In a way, I suppose I