A Tribute to a Good Boy
Spencer,
You were more than just a good boy with a litany of nicknames including Spencer Boney, Boney Boy, Bones, Spencer Davis, Spencer Nittany, Mr. Man, Sweet Boy, Fighter Cat from Arizona, and of course, the King of the PooperMan; you were also my dog, my best friend, and my brother. You were unlike any dog the Fleischauer family ever had or will ever own: an aloof yet routine-oriented golden retriever who despised small children and subtle furniture movement while also strongly preferring the company of his fellow dogs, like your best friend Sonny Doosker, over humans. It was Spencer’s World and you magnanimously allowed us to live in it.
You monopolized the parents’ bed at night, smelled every blade of grass on your walks, stubbornly blocked people’s walking paths, and nearly killed your German shepherd sister Shade as you went for her neck on her first day of living with us. Still, when the time called, you were there for us. When another dog jumped through a glass door and intended to attack us as we walked by, you fought back and protected us. When someone came home from a long day at work, you would greet them at the gate with your big brown eyes, happy-go-lucky smile, a frisbee in your mouth, and an impatient ARF ARF ARF if they didn’t reach the gate in a prompt manner. When your human sister Emily was in low spirits, you’d cheer her up with one of your kisses that you seldom gave out. Like anyone in our family, myself certainly included, you could be a bit of a pain in the ass at times, however, all in all, you were an easy dog who made our home a better place to live.
Like anyone who loves their pet, I tried my best to ignore the increasing amount of sugar on your face and the concept of the finite amount of time we have together for as I long as I could. However, in your final months, there were few smiles, fewer frisbees, and no ARF ARF ARFs whatsoever. It crushed me, but I knew our final days together were upon us. In your final two weeks, nothing bothered me more than the word “last.” Would this be the LAST treat I gave you? Would this be our LAST good night hug? Would this be the LAST time you get to hear me say “I Love you”? However, I also wondered when was the LAST time you weren’t in pain and enjoyed life. This realization made the decision to put you down slightly easier to handle, nevertheless, losing you left a retriever-sized hole in my heart that remains the same size days later as I type this out. I continue to struggle with the pain of your passing as I am constantly reminded of you by the ordinary items and memories that quietly surround me. All of them make me miss you in different ways.
When the weather gets warmer, I’ll miss seeing you under the swing on the breezeway, your favorite spot, savoring the silence and cooler temperature of the shaded area.
I’ll miss looking in the backyard and watching a recently-groomed dog, who just got home from the doggie parlor, roll around in the mud in an effort to get the shampoo smell off of his coat.
I’ll miss getting a text with a new picture of you being tortured in a costume related to an upcoming holiday.
I’ll miss your audible sighs as the noisy humans in the house, rudely interrupt your periods of rest.
When a song comes on that makes me think of you, like Dr. Dog’s Fat Dog, Harry Styles’s Golden, or any track that I sang to you and substituted the lyrics with your name or ARF ARF ARFs in the past, I’ll miss you.
I’ll miss seeing your excitement when you learn the news that family members like Jenna, James, Baby Ella, Aunt Sandy, Uncle Frankie, Aunt Beth, Erin and more were making a visit.
I’ll miss seeing your daily excitement of running back and forth between the garage and gate after you found out that daddy was home.
I’ll miss seeing you play in the kiddie pool with your wild husky cousin Lucy.
I’ll miss seeing you retreat to your cage sanctuary for a moment of tranquility and the opportunity to recharge your social battery, especially after having to tolerate Lucy the provocateur’s acts of instigation.
I’ll miss seeing you patiently wait for your turn to greet me as I entered the house.
I’ll miss the sight of you, Shade, and Lucy horsing around on a bed.
I’ll miss observing your delight as mom gives you a chinny-chin rub.
On March 30th, I’ll miss having your birthday to celebrate.
I’ll miss noticing your expressive eyes and eyebrows as they peer around the room trying to conceptualize the happenings at that moment.
I’ll miss your Pavlovian response to hearing the Jeopardy theme, knowing it was almost time to go on a walk, and then walking over to give us the “Can we go on a walk” look as the Jeopardy-round categories were announced.
I’ll miss watching my overjoyed four-legged friend filled with anticipation yelp out couple of Arf Arfs as gleeful confirmation to either of the following questions:
Do you want to go on a walk?
Where’s your leash?
I’ll miss our personal connection. I’ll miss your appreciation of the simple things in life. I’ll miss making new memories. And of course, Spencer, I’ll miss you.
I deeply cherished our personal connection. You certainly at least cherished this personal connection when I scratched your tough-to-reach spots and escaped my dish drying-duty to give you a post-dinner belly rub. Fittingly, the parents sporadically would mix up our names as they mistakenly called out for the opposite one of us. Interestingly, the nickname Ev Dog likely caught on because of you. College roommates spotted a few photos of you on my bulletin board and quickly associated my name with my adoration for you. The name stuck. The compatibility of our personalities also enhanced our bond. We both exuded relaxed and reserved demeanors that at times would quickly switch to slightly anxious over a trivial matter, but still give off an unperturbed external appearance.
We were always there for each other. On the car ride following a long nature walk filled with smells and overstimulation, my thigh provided a soft pillow for you to rest your head on as we traveled home in the backseat. When fireworks bombarded the sky on the night of a holiday or whatever random day our hick neighbors chose, I embraced you to provide your trembling body with a source of comfort. When I lived at home, you always came to my door each morning to wake me up. When I lived somewhere else, a message or phone call from another family member would inform me of your regular visits to my absent room. During my days in State College, Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh, I always eagerly awaited my next trip home where we would spend several hours together playing all of your favorite games.
During your younger years, instead of fetching a frisbee and bringing it back, your favorite game, ironically for a retriever, was playing keep away as you sprinted around the yard and had everyone outside chase you with a frisbee in your mouth. Typically, it took about twenty laps for you to finally slow down and give us at least a marginal possibility at catching you. In your older and heavier days, your game of choice became tug of war. Each time we’d go outside, you scampered over to the box of frisbees, selected your frisbee of choice, and offered me, your favorite competitor, my side of the frisbee. Our battles were memorable. If past Olympians could have watched us, they’d be captivated by the scenes taking place in our backyard as we pulled each other across the lawn. After a few rounds, your strenuous efforts would cause your teeth to shake. Despite that, you were always ready to head back into action for our next bout.
Your beautiful, one-trek mind desired nothing more in life than your simple pleasures. One of your favorite everyday delights was eating human food. All dogs concur that human food is far superior to dog food, however, compared to the vast majority of these other dogs, you were fortunate to live in a house with a father that fed his dogs better than many other parents feed their own human babies. Whether if it was your favorites like bologna, muffins, peanut butter ice cream, peanut butter cookies, or just whatever protein was being served at the Fleischauer all-you-can-eat-table-scrap buffet, you loved your human food. To your credit, you also enjoyed healthier options beyond junk food and meat. I fed you green beans out of my fingertips without the fear of losing a digit as you docilely would eat your favorite vegetable. Peppers produced your most picky-eating habit as any non-red bell pepper was beneath your standard.
Even your dog treats were bougie. We constantly rewarded you with a variety of treats including a gravy bone, a piece of salmon jerky, a special frosted treat from the farmer’s market shaped like whatever object was relevant to that time of year, or a busy bone when Auntie Wanda came over. For these last two, you’d parade around the house with one of them in your mouth and whine in an attempt to be let outside to bury your new treasure.
Simply being outside brought you happiness. No matter if it was a day with an excessive heat advisory or a foot of snow on the ground as temperatures dropped below zero, you proudly pranced around the backyard like a show dog and enjoyed lounging on both dry grass and mounds of snow.
You earned your green paw as you frequently supported mom in the garden. Although, sitting around dirt for a prolonged period of time provoked your rare mischievous side. Eventually, when mom wasn’t looking, you started shoveling your way through the ground. So much dirt was lost that it generally required buying a replacement bag or two of topsoil. Worst of all, you also likely inspired your husky cousin Lucy to become a fellow fan of digging. Smiling with a brown-stained snout and paws, you proudly earned the nickname Digger Dick from our furious mother. Eventually, when she calmed down, the nickname became a more family-friendly Digger Dan.
Another reason for this love of the outdoors included your fascination with other animals. You only ever observed a fox a handful of times, but it apparently left quite the impression as nothing got you outside faster than one of us saying, “Mr. Fox is here!” Furthermore, the sight of your deer friends dashing by at the crack of dawn triggered a boisterous, jubilant bark out of you that woke up all of your family and human neighbors. However, no animal entranced you more than hawks. I’m not sure if you were mesmerized by how they glided so effortlessly above us in the sky and didn’t want to see them leave or if it was just you being offended that these birds had the nerve to fly above your yard. Either way, you savored the opportunity to run across the yard directly below their flight path, animatedly bark at them, and then stare up at them in amazement as they fly over the horizon.
But of all the simple joys in life, nothing brought you more amusement than your favorite three activities: Going on morning walks with dad, swimming, and park/creek walks. Every morning, you’d love to start off your day with a walk that featured the opportunity to search for the scent of or potentially socialize with your fellow neighborhood doggie friends like Zeus, Toby, Glory, the Goldie Girls, or even your frenemy Arthur. Not that one black lab though! That dog sucks for some arbitrary dog reason I’ll never be able to understand. Your morning walks also provided you with valuable private time with dad that became uncommon after Shade joined the family.
It’s probably for the best we didn’t have a pool or you likely would have never wanted to come out. Luckily, a local kennel and a canine spa both provided you with ample opportunities for one of your favorite pastimes. Even in your older age, you continued to swim hard as Shade coached you on from the edge of the pool.
Creek walks combined both your love of walks and swimming. This was less simple at times for the humans that took you on these walks as they had to coordinate navigating down sharp rocks as two dogs pulled hard towards the water. Your beaming smile as water dripped down from your drenched coat always made the hazardous part of these walks worth it. While park walks lacked the swimming element, you still loved all the foreign smells from outside the neighborhood and all the grass you could roll around on and scratch your back.
While your loss still aches in my heart, I’m extremely grateful to have experienced all these precious memories with you. I hope the blog thumbnails and graphics featuring you accurately convey these memories, the joy you brought to this world, and properly allow your memory to live on. I dedicate this blog to you and all the other dogs, past, present, and future that have brightened my life. I look forward to enjoying these activities with you again in Doggy Heaven when my time ultimately comes. Until then, I promise I’ll continue to highlight and revel in all the amazing simple pleasures this world has to offer. My only request to you is to go visit Uncle Mike and thank him. If it wasn’t for him persuading a neighbor to let him buy you after you were about to be sold to someone else, our family would have never received the best gift ever, our Spencer.
