Category: Sparky (Page 8 of 18)

Sparky took a dump on the floor in the middle of the night, but I can’t be mad at him.  I might be turning into a crazy person.

I am a deep sleeper, but wake for unfamiliar noises.  At 5 am, I heard something, and it wasn’t Sparky’s tap dancing on the hardwood floor as he goes for a stroll.  It was enough to warrant a sweep of the house, but that didn’t last long.

In the solarium, Sparky had taken a dump in the middle of the room.  It was so ludicrous, I was tempted to take a picture.  It was right in the middle of the room, and larger than his head.  One, let’s call it a segment, looked like an Arturo Fuente Magnum.

Last night, Sparky was uncomfortable.  If I lay on the couch to watch TV, he likes to flop over so I can rub his belly.  He didn’t want that.  Any flopping or belly rubbing was unappreciated.  Sparky even went to bed early, which is unusual.  As is our routine, I took him out before I went to bed.  It would usually be a quick trip, but we walked down to the bridge.  Sparky wasn’t talkative on our walk, and almost reserved.  I was a little concerned.

Something had him stopped up.  Maybe it was the change in routine from camping over the weekend or eating too much of whatever he found in the garbage bag.  Sparky is an old guy.  I’m an old guy.  I’d have had a cup of coffee to set me to right.  He has limited options.

Sparky did the only thing he could, so I cleaned up his deposit, and went back to bed. 

At about 8 am, Sparky came out to face his impending doom.  He knows what he did.  You can see the shame on his face in the photo.  I might be crazy for empathizing, and pretending like it never happened.

After taking the photo and talking for a little while, we went out for a walk.  Somehow, the little tube managed to poop again, but that was small potatoes.  It may have been a performative poop to convince me that a ground hog or hobo had creeped into my house to take a dump.  Fine, we’ll go with that.

Sparky was crying a little bit after I had to lecture him and put him in jail for getting into the trash.

I’m a bad parent.  No, not parent.  Dog owner doesn’t feel right either.  I’m not trying to instill good habits or protect him from the world.  He’s an adult with agency.  If Sparky wanted to smoke, I wouldn’t buy him cigarettes and he’d have to do it outside, but otherwise, it’s his decision.  It’s like when Hickman stays with me.  I want him to be comfortable and I enjoy his company, but he can make his own decisions.

After camping, the trash bag from the camper was accessible to Sparky.  I heard some rustling in the other room, but he is always doing something wacky, so none of my business.  Eventually, I found that he’d chewed through the bag and lapped up a bunch of barbecue sauce. 

When I would take my students to Cedar Point for Physics Day, there were two primary rules.

1.  Don’t do anything that reflects negatively on North Royalton High School.
2.  Don’t be late meeting up at the end of the day.

One year, Jess and I were in the back of the park, near Rip-Cord.  Three of our students were talking to a cop.  Our students had changed into morph suits.  A morph suit looks like this:

Cedar Point has a rule prohibiting guests from wearing costumes.  It has something to do with their affiliation with Hanna-Barbara.  Jess loaned one student a jacket to cover the suit, then traveled to the lockers with that kid to get their clothes. 

It was a violation of rule #1, so I had to punish them.  They could serve a week of detentions, or bring ice cream for the class.

That’s how I feel about Sparky’s infraction.  The bag was right there, he chewed a little hole, didn’t scatter any trash or get barbecue sauce on anything.  I’m not going to feed Sparky garbage, but if he eats some, well, that’s on him.  I didn’t lecture him, just pointed out the hole in the bag and put him in jail.  In that photo, Sparky was laughing, but tried to cover it by licking his paws.

I left him in there for 5 minutes. 

Nothing special, just Sparky screwing around in the yard.

Little piglet is enjoying the first fire of the season.

It’s not worth having a fire if the outside temperature is above 45^o F outside.  This morning, it was 44^o and raining.  It may warm up, but the rain makes it feel colder and I have to go out occasionally to check on the creek headwall.  Also, the first burn has a smell as dust burns off of the stove, so it’s best to crack the patio door.

The inside temperature is 75^o, so Sparky could flop anywhere in comfort.  He likes the fire, and occasionally, like in the photo, does a half-wavelength tail wag.  If Sparky ever learns to speak English, I’d like to ask him why.  A floor wag can’t be comfortable. 

Dog behaviorists say that dogs wag their tails to signal their emotional state to other members of the pack.  Maybe, but why wag when nobody is around?  A person, alone, doesn’t laugh or smile nearly as much if something funny happens.

My theory is that God made dogs automatically wag their tails when they are content to keep them aware of the good times.  Dogs can’t count.  They see one or none.  If there is one food, then eat it.  If there is one rabbit, then chase it.  Dogs can’t count, so they can’t count their blessings.

People can choose to only acknowledge the dreary or irritating events in life.  If a person gets out of the car at Aldi, and a stranger offers them a cart, that’s a minor blessing.  The person can choose to see the stranger as too lazy to walk back to get their quarter, or as an unsolicited kindness.  People can choose to count their blessings or harbor a grudge against the universe. 

Dogs brains are not wired like that.  I don’t know how they work.  Maybe if Sparky hears thunder, he thinks, “yeah, this sucks, but my butt muscles are sore from all that tail wagging, so it’s been a pretty good day.”

Sparky is frightened of thunderstorms, so it was a rough night for me.  Around 4 am, Sparky’s vigorous panting roused me from sleep.  I am a deep sleeper, but once awake, don’t usually go back to sleep.  It was murder trying to get moving. 

Sparky just told me that he’s not afraid of thunderstorms, but gets very alert just in case I need his assistance.  He says that’s why he always needs to piss during thunderstorms.  Sparky says he doesn’t piss from fear, but since urine is an electrolyte.  He wants to be less electrically conductive.  I told him that with the transmission towers, we are shielded from lightning strikes, but he is skeptical.

Bugs Bunny taught me that “music soothes the savage beast”, so I played Ultra-Lounge Volume 17 to mask the sound of thunder.  As Sparky patrolled the house, I learned that I needed more Les Baxter in my life.  I got to work on that until Sparky eventually relaxed.  I did go back to sleep for a bit, but Sparky has been sleeping, on and off, ever since.

When Sparky first moved in, his dream barks were the only indication that he could bark.  It’s usually only when he’s napping, not when he’s down for the night.  When he naps, Sparky is about 80% asleep, and retains some situational awareness.  It’s hard to video him because he gets more alert if I get up or the TV volume is turned down.

When I brought Sparky home after my surgery, his dream barks were troubled and whimpery for a couple of days.  I hate to see him suffer, but it is nice to know that he cares.

I hold Sparky in high regard, but sometimes, he seems like just a pretty face.

When we went outside for our walk, these three deer were wandering by.  I said, “Rabbit!” to flip his switch into hunter-pursuit mode.  They strolled about 40 yards before Sparky even looked in their direction.  Sparky decided to take me very literally, and wasn’t interested.

Sparky talks big, but now I’m wondering if chasing rabbits is a charade.  Sure, he’ll eat any baby bunnies he finds. but what would he do if he caught a rabbit?