Spike

By Bob Connor

I have recently written several articles concerning cats, since that is the preferred form of pet in the Connor household. However, you can discern from the title of this article that it is probably not about a cat. I have never known of a cat named “Spike,” but there is probably at least one such feline somewhere in the world.

Today, all around the world, countless people are scrambling to find a Portuguese Water Dog to adopt since there is now one holed-up at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. There is a boom for the breed. In India, for example, people are paying about US $2,000 for one of the critters.

For all dog lovers, I offer this story of a reunion with a “ring” to it made possible by a dog.

I was raised with dogs, and I love them. The first in my memory was Bozo, a fox terrier, who was really my grandmother and grandfather’s pet. She (yes - despite the name - Bozo was a female) lived with them in Cleburne, Texas. Bozo begat “Trixie” who lived with me for many years in Garland, Texas, and then in Houston.

Her fur was mostly white, but she was adorned with a perfect “saddle” formation in tastefully colored brown on the arch of her back. It almost invited a very small person to mount and ride her. She was lucky that I didn’t name her “Saddleback.”

Trixie eventually passed into the great kennel in the sky; but, prior to her departure, she begat “Spot,” a boy who was creatively named that due to a certain brown marking on his otherwise white fur.

The thing that Spot liked to do more than anything else was to occupy the passenger seat in my car and hang as much of his body as possible out the window when I took him on a ride around the neighborhood. He was obsessed with this activity and probably needed to seek counseling from an animal shrink or “dog whisperer.” He could be asleep on the other side of the house, and all I had to do was jingle my car keys and he would come bounding to me bursting with excitement.

But, Spot also liked to do more “doggie things” like “fetch.” I was living with my Mother and Step-Father at the time I graduated from the University of Houston in 1967. Also. Spot was living with us. I had bought a U of H class ring and wore it proudly. It was a typical class ring with ruby colored glass set in the middle and the year of graduation formed in the 10k gold ring. My initials of “RJC” were engraved on the inside of the band. It was very special to me. But, it fit a little loose on my finger.

Sometime thereafter, I was playing with Spot in my backyard on Woodcrest Street in the Oak Forest subdivision. I was throwing sticks and balls for him to fetch. Later, I missed my class ring.

Thinking that it might have come off in the back yard as I was frolicking with my pet, I laid out a search pattern designed to systematically cover the entire yard (I’m an Eagle Scout, so I know about these things). Yards in this subdivision, which was developed in the late 40s and early 50s, are pretty large; so a search pattern was needed.

Although I followed the search pattern meticulously, the ring was not found. I looked in the house and in my car, since I was not sure where it might be. I even obtained a metal detector later and searched the backyard. I unearthed other metal objects of no value but no cherished ring. It was lost.

The ring symbolized all of my hard work – all the years of studying and working my way through the university by delivering goods for a Fuller Brush salesman (are you old enough to remember what that is?). I also did some door-to-door selling myself – and did all kinds of odd jobs. I still had my Bachelor’s Degree, framed and hanging on the wall. But, my cherished ring was gone.

More than 30 years later, I received a call from Arlene SoRelle-Tharpe. She and her husband Mark lived in the house directly behind my former home, which had been sold after my Mother and Step-Father went home to God. Arlene and Mark had a big Boxer named “Spike”.

The call was a gamble for her as she was looking for someone who had graduated from the University of Houston in 1967 and whose initials were “RJC.” Spike had unearthed my ring. Apparently, as I was throwing things for Spot to retrieve, I had launched the ring from my finger and, unnoticed by me, it had sailed over the back fence of my home and into the back yard that now belonged to Arlene and Mark and dominated by Spike.

Arlene had taken it upon herself to do some detective work and had tracked me down through the U of H Alumni Association of which I was then a member. They had given her the names of 9 persons with initials “RC” and who had graduated in 1967. But, they had the phone number of only one – that was me.

We met at a jewelry store where the owner had graciously cleaned my ring for me. He also later enlarged it since for some reason it was now tight on my finger. We were met there by a reporter and a photographer for the Houston Chronicle who interviewed us and took a photo. A column and two photos – one of me and one of Spike – appeared in the next day’s edition. Later, TV Channel 11 met us there and shot some footage which flattered us on the evening news. It was a nice human interest story and a break from the otherwise generally depressing daily news.

I later treated Arlene and Mark to dinner at the Aquarium Restaurant in downtown Houston. It is a fascinating place. But, not to forget the real hero, I visited the Denny’s at I-610 and East T.C. Jester and ordered up two T-bone steaks to go. Spike was very appreciative.

Bob Connor is a continuing education teacher at St. Ambrose Catholic Church. You can reach him at bobconn@earthlink.com

(The Banner, June 11, 2009)