"Kyle, do you think we should get a dog?"
"Ga?"
"A dog."
"Ga?"
"Do. You. Think. We. Should. Get. A. Dog...?"
"..... Ga?"
"Sounded like a yes to me!"
So, they opted to get a puppy. A little Yellow Labrador Retriever. We named him Mike. Mike L. Angelo. A very punny name, and one I'd like to think I had some part in. In spite of the whole talking thing, of course.
"What should we call him?"
"Ga?"
"I heard Mike!"
Now, of course, I remember very, very, very little of the early days when Mike was still a puppy. Most of what I know was told to me, or relayed in pictures. I do remember seeing a family video once in which Mike would keep biting the back of my diaper and knocking me over.
Fast forward a couple of years. I'm a bit bigger, and Mike is full grown. This was when the intelligence of the yellow lab began to emerge.
Back in those days, I'd often take my supper into my room to eat. Mike, who always stayed right at my side otherwise, wouldn't ever follow me in when it was supper time. Instead, he would bide his time, waiting until he saw me get up to go and get a drink.
Whenever I'd abandon my food, he would strike like a ninja. He'd head straight into the room, swiftly devour everything on my plate, and then leave again. I'd then return, drink in hand, to find an empty plate, clean as it was before food had been heaped upon it.
"Alright, time for some... food?"
"Food? Where did you go food? I could have sworn I left it here..."
And, of course, Mike would be laid down in the living room, licking his chops, grinning from ear to ear. He knew I wouldn't rat him out, I didn't want to get in trouble for leaving my food down. Again. It was the perfect crime.
But, Mike's hunger could not be satiated by people food alone. Oh no. His hunger ran far too deep. Nothing was safe from his gluttony. What follows is a short list of just a few of the things he devoured over time:
Pot roast.
Tin of brownies, including the tin.
Door frame.
Box of laundry detergent.
Arm of a couch.
Lego.
Army men.
Assorted pocket change.
My homework at one point.
A broken piece of a brick.
The last bit left him with a tiny scar on the top of his muzzle. There truly was nothing he wouldn't at least try to eat. If he could get it in his mouth, he was gonna eat it. I really wish something, anything on that list was just a joke. But no. It isn't. He never even got an upset stomach, either.
"Oh, what's that? Is it food?"
"Mike, it's a brick. Rock. Inedible."
"Well, you say that, but I'm gonna go ahead anyway, on the off chance you're wrong and it's a cookie."
"Mike, no!"
"I REGRET MY DECISION!"
Thankfully, I was not big enough to fit in his mouth, so I was safe. And, since he couldn't eat me, he decided he needed to keep an eye on me. Possibly in case I became suddenly edible. Regardless, Mike was glued to my side all the time. I recall almost every night growing up, I'd fall asleep with my head on mike's side, and his head on my stomach. We were truly inseparable.
His hunger was surmounted by one thing, however. His absolute and crippling fear of thunder. Whenever a storm rolled through, as happens often here in north Alabama, the fear would set in. He'd start shaking, and we'd start looking for the doggie downers.
"I.. I just... I look outside, and the grass? The grass? You know the grass?"
"Yeah, Mike?"
"It's just so... Green... Like, the grass is green, and that's sort of like... life, right?"
"Mike, you're high. Just... Just lay down and sleep, ok?"
"But the grass, man..."
The tranquilizers were absolutely necessary. Mike did not exhibit fear like most dogs. Most dogs, they just run and hide somewhere. Under a bed, under a couch, whatever. And then they stay there.
Not Mike, nope. He was, of course, a big dog. He'd run and hide, but he always tried to hide under things that weren't big enough. Chairs, tables, whatever. Then, whatever it was would tumble off to the side, and he'd realize he was no longer hidden. So, he'd find somewhere else to hide, and flip that over too. And so on. And that was with the tranquilizers.
"Did... Did I hear a boom?"
"OH MY GOD! GET THE TRANQS, BEFORE HE HEARS!"
At one point, my family and I were heading out for... Something, I guess? I don't remember. Movie, dinner, something. Doesn't really matter. But, there was a storm rolling in as we were leaving. We decided to take our chances, and before we left, we gave Mike a nice big dose of the doggie downers and leashed him to the couch to try and minimize the fallout.
When we arrived home, the couch, which was an old, incredibly heavy couch, had been dragged across the room, and had the arm chewed off. It was completely totaled. It was so far gone, that it turned out a better idea to make an insurance claim to replace it.
When I was ten, a growth appeared on Mike's foot. As soon as we noticed it, we rushed him to the vet. They said it was a benign tumor, and they promptly removed it. And that was thought to be the end of it.
Unfortunately, it wasn't. When I was eleven, the growth returned. This time, the vet said it was cancer, and that it was too late, that it had already spread. The vet told us we had two options. We could either put him to sleep, or we could take him home and wait.
Now, at this point, he could no longer keep food down. He was very ill. So, taking him home would have meant watching him slowly waste away until he finally starved to death. The vet actually recommended this course of action.
The untenable, unrepentant, vile asshole.
My family, every one of us, we're dog people. We love our dogs more than we care for most people. We could not fathom selfishly making him suffer through starvation just to give us a bit more time with him. So, we did the humane thing and said our goodbyes.
And I cried, like I've never cried since. I tear up a little now just remembering it.
He went quietly, and peacefully, his tail slowly sliding back and forth over the ground until he was gone.
He was the best dog I could have ever asked for, and I miss him to this day.
I love you Mike.
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