Spunky, Sept. 29, 1998 - March 8, 2010

Spunky, my family's beloved yellow lab, passed away last Monday. He finally stopped eating and drinking, and when animals stop eating and drinking, there's not much you can do. It's just time at that point.

Spunky started having seizures in 2001. They weren't fun to watch, and they couldn't have been fun for him, but we were told there wasn't anything more sinister going on (obviously, as he lived for another nine years). He was on medication for them, and we managed them the best we could.

They finally started to prove too much for him to handle over the summer. He had a massive seizure in July that left him wobbly and weak. The medication he had to take was in such a high dosage, he was left groggy and confused most of the time. Over Christmas, he was wearing a harness around his hips that had handles so we could pull him up because he had a hard time standing up from laying down.

And finally it just got to the point where it was last weekend. My mom was there with him and held him as he went to sleep. He wasn't scared. He was calm and happy, licking her arms and face to the end.

I'm sorry. I know that's hard to read, but I had to get it out one more time. I had to write it and see it to know it's real.

For all the health problems he had at the end of his life, that's never going to be how I'll remember him.

Spunky was our first family pet -- and really, I guess you can say he's our only family pet, seeing as how I no longer live at home, and my sister probably won't be moving back home after grad school.

When I was 16, we finally managed to convince our parents to get a dog. A friend of my dad had a lab who was having puppies. We went and visited, and immediately picked out two puppies: a yellow lab we named Spunky and a black lab we named Shadow. They were adorable. When we took them home, Shadow rested on my legs in the car, and Spunky shouted and barked the whole way home in the back of the van.

And that's how he became Spunky. He was loud; he was rambunctious; he was FUN. He was what you expected out of a family lab. Shadow was the dominant of the two puppies, but he was more reserved. He still played a lot, but he was quiet.

Eventually, my mom's allergies proved too much, and we very sadly had to return the dogs to the woman who agreed to find new homes for them.

A few days passed. The box of puppy toys in the corner looked so sad, and in the few short days we had them, we'd grown incredibly attached to them and the atmosphere they created around the house.

One day, I came home from school and noticed the baby gate was up blocking the kitchen from the living room -- something we did when the puppies were there so they couldn't have accidents on the carpet. I walked over to the kitchen, and there was Spunky, sitting there looking at me.

My parents agreed two dogs were too many for the allergies, but we could give one dog a try. So they went and picked up Spunky again and he was ours! We missed Shadow, but we knew he'd find a good home. He wasn't at a shelter. He was with friends of ours and he was a black lab puppy -- not exactly hard to find a home for those.

So Spunky was a part of our lives since then. He was funny and quirky, and he was everything you could want in a dog. And that's what I'll remember from now on. I'll always remember Spunky as the lively, healthy, energetic dog he was growing up.

I'll remember him sprinting the length of the fence in the backyard with his friend Jazz, the rottweiler next door.

I'll remember him curiously nosing the back fence as the cows (yes, cows) walked by. He jumped at the fence, and an equally curious cow head-butted the fence, knocking Spunky down. He decided to watch safely from a few feet back from then on as the cows made their almost-daily march through the field behind our house.

I'll remember him sprinting and jumping through the air as we threw him the ball over and over and over again. He was never happier than when someone was throwing him a tennis ball.

I'll remember the bright brown eyes, so full of life, and the snow-white tip on his tail.

I'll remember the time he got out of the backyard and only went to the front door and sat down, waiting to be let in, as if to say, "I know how good I have it here; I'm not going anywhere else, thanks."

Spunky was a great, great dog. He lived to be 11 and a half, and he lived in three different decades. Not bad at all. He was happy and loved as much as a dog could be loved.

Rest in peace, Spunkers. We'll never forget you, and we'll love you and miss you forever.