Posts Tagged ‘Funny Dog Stories’

So over the weekend I attended a local basketball game and as always The Spark accompanied me. Sparky usually goes with me unless I’m going to be out of the car a really long time or if the weather is too cold or hot. Anyone who has seen my car knows the backseat (and sometimes the front passenger side) is basically Sparky’s territory and is always filled with a doggie bed and some comfy blankets. Anyway, the game ended around 9:30pm and I set off to meet some friends at a local establishment.

However, as I drove there Spark hopped up between the seats and nudged my ear with his snout, his way of telling me he needed to use the bathroom.

Well, I was in the middle of town so I made the quick decision to pull into the new library’s parking lot. Of course the place was empty and also had plenty of grass for Spark to do his business, which he did.

Keep in mind that Sparky is generally well behaved so unless I’m in a high traffic area he’s rarely leashed. Plus he looks both ways before crossing the street, so there’s that. And yes, I’m serious.

Anyway, as we walked back to the car Sparky spotted a little Weiner Dog in somebody’s front yard, and before I could stop him he ran to the street, checked for traffic, and headed to meet a new friend. Just as I trotted over to get him, a man opened his door to let his pup back in, not even looking down as his little Weiner Dog ran back into the house. He head was actually turned back inside like he was watching the TV or something.

You know where this is going, right?

Yep, Sparky walked right into the house with his new buddy.

And just as I was about to yell something, to my horror the man shut the door behind him.

Let me tell you, although the Spark is a constant source of entertainment with his neverending antics, this was certainly a new one.

All I could do was speedwalk up to the door, give it a knock, and try to explain myself.

Guy, opening the door about 3-inches: “Can I help you?”

I swear to you the dude was oblivious. He had no idea my dog had snuck into his house.

Me: “Uh, I was walking my dog and he went into your house.”

Guy: “What? How? What do you mean?”

Me: “He saw your dog in the yard and when you opened the door to let him back in he walked right in behind him. I’m serious. He’s in there.” 

But the guy still wasn’t buying it. I’m pretty sure he suspected I was a serial killer trying to con my way into his house.

Guy: “There’s no way. I would have seen him. Also, my dog’s a she.”

Well, that certainly explained a lot. But seriously, at this point I was starting to get a little upset. I mean, the guy was being very nice, but there was zero chance I was leaving without my best friend.

Me: “Listen, I’m telling you he’s in there. His name is Sparky. I’m going to yell for him.”

Guy: “Sure, give it a try.”

Me: “SPARK! Get out here!”

Of course, the next thing you knew Sparky and his new sweetheart came strutting around the corner, happy as larks, grinning the way dogs do. The guy was incredulous and amazed that Sparky had pulled that off. Being dog people, he and his wife (no, she hadn’t noticed either) gave Spark a belly rub and a treat before we went on our way.

The Spark. He’s the only one I know who can sneak into a stranger’s house and leave with a belly rub and a milkbone.



Sparky and his beloved Loofa Dog.

This is the latest in a hopefully long series about Sparky, my Jack Russell Terrier who is with me as a result of some carnage involving chickens down in Kentucky. For the record, Spark has steadfastly denied involvement. Poultry bloodbath aside, the little canine dynamo has been a godsend and, as such, changed my life as I knew it.

A lot of dogs hate sweepers, I know that. But my sweeper, at least according to Sparky, is the Life Sucking Toy Stealing Food Grabbing Water Burgling Raging Beast from The Netherworld. You see, when I get the sweeper out all hell breaks loose. Sparky goes into attack mode, with a dash of SWAT Team tossed in for good measure. As I sweep, the sweeper is repeatedly assailed from different angles. Spark seems to enjoy going for the wheels in particular. He seems to know that if he disables the wheels the horrific entity will be rendered nonfunctional. Sparky hates the wheels.

But here’s the thing. In between these dive-bomb kamikaze blitzes are periodic raids to save all that is Sparky’s. First, a buzz-through to grab his beloved Loofa Dog from the bed. The Loofa is always first. This is accomplished by vaulting over the sweeper (this is completely unnecessary, he totally goes out of his way to do this), bounding on the bed, grabbing the Loofa, springing back off the bed (twice as far as he needs to bound by the way), back over the sweeper (again unnecessarily) before escaping into the living room where the precious Loofa Dog is tucked under a pillow on the couch. Can’t let the Deadly Sweeper Fiend from Hell suck the Loofa into its Jaws of Death, now can we? This process is repeated with his other favorite toy, the Squeaky Duck, as well as various tennis balls, pull toys, an unfinished nylabone, a pine cone he brought in from the yard, and a pair of my boxers I’d left on the bed. Thanks Spark.

But yesterday Sparky took this ritual to a new level. After he’d extricated his possessions (and one of mine) from harm and certain destruction, he grabbed his food dish and took it into the living room, where it was then placed safely behind a chair. What he did next, however, surprised even me. He has one of those gallon water jugs that filters water into his bowl, which usually lasts a few days. I glance over and he’s trying to drag it into the next room. No way the monster was going to deprive Sparky of his water. There was also no way was he going to pull that off without major spillage so I had to make an executive decision and exert my power as Head of the House.

I shut down his act. Regretfully.

Actually it was so cute to watch I felt sorry for him and moved it for him, but that’s neither here nor there. My best friend is completely spoiled not spoiled.

So as you can see, cleaning the house at my place is not as mundane a process as it is in other households. It is, in fact, a blur of furry fury.


I can’t remember what life was like without him. Thank God he killed those chickens.