Silly Goose

Losing Sparky in April 2025 still sits heavy in my chest more than a year later. He wasn’t just a family dog. He was a constant, a witness to our lives, and in the end, he became my dog in a way that surprised even me.

Writing this is my way of honoring him and trying to make sense of the hole he left behind.

Around 2008 we set out to find a dog for the family. I don’t remember every detail of how it happened, but my wife later accused me of denying the kids a dog and I pushed Sparky. I’ve been accused of plenty of things over thirty years of marriage, and that one wasn’t even close to the worst. Whatever the truth was back then, Sparky arrived, and nothing was ever quite the same.
At first, he was just a dog. He snapped at the kids sometimes and nipped them over the years, but he never really meant harm. Most of the time it was simply because they were trying to take something from him that he valued more than having his ears scratched or his belly rubbed. One moment that shook us all happened when Robert left a Jiffy peanut butter jar out for him to lick clean. Sparky got his head stuck inside and came dangerously close to dying. The panic that filled the house was something I’ll never forget. Robert carried that guilt for years and never really got over leaving the jar where Sparky could reach it. It was a real eye-opener for the kids, for me as their dad, and for their mom — a hard lesson about how much Sparky loved food and how careful we all had to be with what we left within his reach.

Despite that scare, he had a special way with the kids when they were young. He’d jump up to play, howl down the halls with Robert, and throw himself into wild tug-of-war games. He loved each of them differently, and they loved him right back.
Over the years something shifted. Sparky slowly became mine. I think it started with the food. I’d slip him stuffed pizza crusts, little bites of hot dog, burger, or steak from the BBQ. I took him on his daily morning walks and his evening walks, and on weekends we’d play in the backyard for hours, both of us doing our best to avoid those evil goat heads.

The rest of the family teased me constantly, accusing me of “killing Sparky” with all the table scraps. I even asked the vet about it. She told me it wasn’t shortening his life, though she did suggest I ease up on the pizza crust. I listened… mostly.

His very best years were in Colorado, especially the winters. Sparky loved snow more than anything on this earth. He never wanted to come back inside. He’d disappear under the big wind-blown snow banks, completely in his element.

One time we took him to the ice rink and he got to run and chase pucks like a puppy. Anything cold made him happy.

When we moved to Washington state, that big fenced backyard felt like paradise to him. Winters turned the yard into a minefield of frozen surprises because the rain kept us inside, but summers were pure joy. He’d race around convinced he was finally going to catch the bunny or the squirrel, rolling in the grass, digging in the bark, then eventually wandering back to the sofa for a long, satisfied nap.

As the kids grew up and their lives filled with school, sports, and friends, Sparky’s days changed too. He went from full-time playmate to a quick fifteen-minute pet in the morning and a twenty-minute cuddle at night before bed. The love was still there; it just looked different.
Sparky’s final chapter was hard, but he faced it like a trooper. Old age brought its share of diseases, and then he went blind. We turned the house into a safe path for a blind dog and did our best to help him keep his dignity. When we moved back to Colorado, it only took him two trips following his nose to the backyard before he had his new routine completely figured out.

Our new vet was gentle but honest. She said we would know when it was time—when he stopped getting off the sofa, when he gave up, when he wouldn’t eat. She also told us to feed him anything he wanted. So in those last weeks, pizza, steak, pasta, and hot dogs rotated through what we started calling the farmer’s dog rotation.

He deserved every bite.

The winter before he passed, the snow fell heavy. Through tears I watched our blind old boy run and play like he was young again, completely lost in his heaven. I will never forget that sight.

In April 2025 we made the decision no one ever wants to make and laid our Sparky to rest. I will never be over it. People keep telling me to get another dog, that it will help. My answer is no. I could never replace him, and I never want to feel that kind of pain again.

Sparky, you were more than a dog. You were my walking partner, my secret snack accomplice, my snowy adventure buddy, and the quiet heartbeat of our home for many years.

The peanut butter jar scare, the backyard games, the long walks, the snow days — every memory is a gift. The house is quieter now, but the love you gave us and the paw prints you left on all our hearts will never fade.

Rest easy, buddy. You were the best dog a family could have asked for.