Our Sparky
Sparky showed up as a stray with one chewed ear and a limp, and never once acted like he'd had a hard start. From the day he wandered into the yard he decided he was ours, and we were smart enough to agree.
He had exactly two speeds: dead asleep in a sunbeam, or full sprint after a tennis ball he had no intention of bringing back. He guarded the mail, distrusted the vacuum on principle, and could find the one warm spot in any room within seconds.
Seventeen years is a long time and somehow not nearly long enough. The yard is quieter now, and the warm spots go unclaimed. Rest easy, old friend — we'll leave the porch light on.
