Spike

Spike only ever tried to bite my arm and slober over the orangey tennis ball in my puny hand. I couldn't even make a fist around anything more than a pencil, but I still tried to reach them around his neck.

I was always scared to get my hands close to such big teeth, and in retrospect, jerking my hand away was probably what discouraged him from approaching me. Spike was an outside dog, never allowed indoors for even a bath, and I only remember petting him five times, usually when no one was looking. They were afraid I would get hurt from such a big dog, but I honestly wish I got trampled once instead of knowing I owned a dog and could love it the way I crave to now.

Spike was a large boxer who looked like another dog named Ella from my Nintendogs. Ironically, I spent wayyy more time with Ella than I did with my real life dog. I don't remember what color my own dog's eyes were, or what kind of closure his leash had. I just remember that I was really sad when I saw him laying on his side on the cement in my backyard. My grandma told me he died and that my dad and uncle were digging a hole to bury him in.

I was sad for a dog I didn't really know. I don't remember what color Spike's nose was, or what shape his ears were. I remember feeding him the chicken meat I refused to eat because it had a vein on it and I didn't want to eat the blood. I remember staring for long periods of time and inching closer and closer to the wooden gate that corralled him away from my play area.

I remember nearly nothing but I did love Spike.