The reason I wanted a new puppy is because the year before, my dad's Golden Retreiver, Alex,9-years-old, had contracted liver cancer and dad had him put to sleep. He had been told by the same irresponsible vet that put Sport to sleep that there was nothing they could do to try and get rid of the cancer.
We waited all the way from August 8th, when dad put Alex to sleep, to April and I was really wanting a dog by then. We went to a local breeder, wanting to take a look at the puppies, when I fell in love with him.
A big fat fluffball, Sport was, pouncing on his litter mates and tagging along after his mom. Dad took out his checkbook and paid the 250 dollars to adopt Sport and then we were off to Wal-Mart to get some food.
Later that year, after the summer, we moved to Southern Indiana and dad married someone who doesn't like animals and wouldn't let Sport in the house. Sport had always been an inside dog and so he didn't like it very much when all of a sudden he found himself in a small, dimly lit, dirty, concrete floored garage with a nasty little snippy Jack Russel Terrier that bit everyone who tried to touch him named Benny.
I walked Sport everyday along with the evil little Jack Russel and I noticed that Sport's kind attitude towards strangers was slowly deteriorating, he barked, and growled if they came close enough, at every single stranger that came up to the front door.
About a year after we had moved he finally bit someone. He was outside on a chain tied up to a tree when Kyle, one of my millions of step-cousins, came up with his bike and started talking to dad.
I guess he was affraid that Kyle would take his food like Benny did every day.
Dad smacked Sport and yelled at him until he ran off, whimpering, over into the woods, still tied up.
The, when we were moving into our new house, 1 year after that, dad tied Sport up to the back end of the truck and forgot about him. He was going to drive the truck over to the old house and pick up some furniture or something when he began driving down the road with Sport still tied to the trailer hitch on his 6 foot long leash. Sport ran as hard as he could for the first little bit but about 1/2 a mile down the road, he couldn't run 30 miles an hour any longer and he dragged on the ground for a half mile until finally, while going around a corner, a person stopped in front of dad and wouldn't move until he got out. I still wonder who that person was and if it was a guardian angel and what would've happened if dad had driven the other mile to the old house.
Dad picked up Sport and put him in the back of the truck and brought him home and came in, running up the stairs and I was wondering what was going on when I finally asked about 1 minute later and he told me. I ran out in the garage to see my puppy, my best friend, all bloody and covered in huge wounds all over his legs and paws laying on the garage floor on his big blanket. He tried to wag his tail when he saw me but he hardly had any engery left and he put his head down and I started petting him. The whole rest of the summer I sat in the garage with him and helped change his foot bandages and gave him treats and water until he was well enough to walk again.
Then, after being trapped inside the garage the whole summer not being able to protect himself against any strangers and still wary of everyone that approached him, Sport almost bit my Step Sister, Brittany.
Everyone had a fit and said that we were going to have to get rid of him. By then, Benny was gone, back to Candice's boyfriend who had given him to her, not dead.
A year later, dad scheduled an appointment after Sport almost bit the gas guy, to have him put to sleep.
It was a Friday at 5:30pm when I finally fed Sport one last hamburger and dad took me and him to the vet and had him put to sleep. The whole time they were getting ready to do it I pet Sport and told him he was a good boy so that he'd know he didn't do anything wrong. Dad burried him over at the farm next to Alex.
It was August 6th, 2004. Sport was four.years old, still pretty much a puppy. A beautiful red golden retriever with nothing more than a tennis ball, a blanket, and a collar to his name. So sweet and my best friend of 4 years, he was gone in seconds.
Sport would've been five this January(2005) and I wonder what he would be doing right now if he was still alive. Playing with my cat... Maybe sleeping, dreaming about chasing a rabbit.
Everyonce in a while I forget and I start to take the heel of a loaf of bread out into the garage and then when I get to the door and open it, it all comes back in a flood again, he's not here, and never will be, ever, again... But then, I try to think of all of the good things he taught me and all the good things he did.
Like when he used to stick his nose in his water dish and blow bubbles and when he'd swim around in the lake and fetch the tennis ball, no matter how hard or long I threw it. When I'd get sad, how he'd always put his head on my lap and look at me with those big brown puppydog eyes maybe saying, "Its gonna be okay, lets go for a walk and you can throw my ball for me!" When there was snow, how he'd dig and dig and dig and blow the snow up in the air with his nose and bite at it.
I will never forget Sport, my best friend, and no one will replace him, but maybe, if all this heaven stuff is true, then someday, I'll see him again, and we'll go to a big lake and play fetch for all of eternity and play in the snow and eat scrambled eggs together with lots of cheese.
Someday, I will see him again, I hope. Some day...
