My Best Friend

I attended the University of Toledo (go Rockets!) in Ohio. Though I graduated Cum Laude, my proudest academic achievement was that I had the worst attendance rate of any student on campus. If I didn’t have a reason to miss class, I would invent one. Not that I’m suggesting that as a course of action for everyone, but I was a decent student who found most classes snooze worthy. Sadly, my absences rarely involved girls on campus. I was a senior, wrapping up my history degree. This is the story of a day I had a good reason to miss class.

It was a rainy, sleety, gray, and dreary Toledo winter day. I parked on the third level of a parking garage. I grabbed my backpack, slung it over my shoulder and started heading for class, when I saw a small female hound dog wandering through the garage and dodging traffic. I bent down and held out the back of my hand to see if the dog was friendly. She sniffed my hand, inspecting me. Her ribs were protruding, and her eyes were gummed up to the point where she could hardly keep them open. Her fur was dirty and matted, and coated with ice from the sleet. I felt empathy for the dog and couldn’t in good conscience leave her meandering through the heavy traffic of the parking garage. I spoke gently to her, coaxing her to my vehicle. I opened the rear door of the car, and she let me pick her up and set her on the seat. I took her home and she and my parent’s dog, Tara, had a moment of examining each other with suspicious, but there was no growling or biting – sniffing without hostility.

I immediately started a bubble bath, hoping to alleviate the stench. While the water was running, I called the veterinarian. They didn’t have any openings, but when I explained the situation, they were able to squeeze her in so that she could get her shots.

While cleaning the gunk from her fur and eyes, I thought of a name for her. As a history major, I wanted to name her after a famous dog from history. So, I named her Sputnik, after the Soviet dog who was the first being to travel in outer space.

As soon as she was cleaned up, Sputnik tore at my heartstrings with her floppy hound dog ears and her club-like tail, which I soon learned had the uncanny knack of knocking things off tables.

At her first visit with the veterinarian, it was determined that she had recently had puppies. I said a silent prayer for those little ones who most certainly didn’t make it. Sputnik also had at least five types of worms and a serious internal infection. An emergency spay job was scheduled. The doctor said without it, she would not survive.

I didn’t take us long to become fast friends. We would watch football and basketball together with her on my lap, although I think she was in it more for the belly-scratching than any event on the television.

Then, with a young man’s wanderlust, I decided to move to Idaho, and Sputnik was my road buddy. She sat in the passenger’s seat. When we were crossing Wyoming, three deer sauntered onto the highway. When I slammed on the brakes, Sputnik slid off the seat and smashed into the glovebox. But, hey, what is a road trip without some adventure?

In Idaho, Sputnik and I lived near a state park. We would take walks there. Although there was plenty of room to roam, I used a leash, knowing there were animals about. Once, a coyote came out of the woods into the field, barking furiously. Sputnik’s fur stood on end along her back. Though the coyote was twice her size, the junkyard dog thought she was a match for it.

As the years went by, Sputnik lost pep in her step. She had a stroke that took her vision from her left eye. It was clear that she was in decline. I took her to the veterinarian for an examination, and the doctor said that her lungs were cancerous and that her situation was terminal.

With tears in my eyes, I agreed to the veterinarian’s advice to have her put down. I insisted on being in the room where the procedure was to take place. I said goodbye to her, held her, and felt her body go limp.

I’m proud of giving a homeless dog a home and companionship. She did the same for me.