Happy Birthday Spiffy!

"That's a lot of money to pay for a rescue dog."

"She couldn't have been more than a foot long...maybe 5 or 6 pounds."
"...Get your ball. Now your rope. Now Bone. Now frisbee."

My dog Spiffy’s birthday was yesterday. Actually, we’re not really sure when Spiffy was born--but we celebrate her birthday on July 4th.

I first got Spiffy in August of 2000, from a puppy rescue in North Denver. Had to pay $75.00 for the adoption, shots; and to get her fixed. “That’s a lot of money to pay for a rescue dog,” my dad told me at the time. Please. I love my dad heart and soul, but when he says things like that..makes me so mad. $75.00 for Spiffy? That was the greatest steal of all-time.

When I took Spiffy home from the rescue they said, “Don’t be surprised if she gets sick in the car--that happens with a young pup." Yeah, yeah. Spiffy instantly passed-out on the center console of my old T-Bird. She couldn’t have been more than a foot long and maybe 5-6 pounds. I got her home about an hour later; opened the car door and gently placed her on the grass. She looked up at me with a bit of dreamy confusion then proceeded to take a piss. Good girl.

The first 8 months I had Spiffy I was unemployed, so we spent everyday together. I taught her to run next to me on the bike and to go into her crate on command. Mornings began with a leash-walk to the local coffee shop, then we’d get home and work vocabulary as I sipped my Grande Mocha Latte. Spiffy, get your ball. Ball. Now your rope. Get your rope. Now bone. Now frisbee. Now collar. Now we need your leash. Then we’ll ride in the car. And go the park. To fetch sticks.

Spiffy got a lot of words down fast and was a quick thinker, but was also the cutest pup that ever happened. The first time my friend Rules saw her she immediately fell to the floor and gushed all over her.

“Oh my God Lodo, she’s darling!” she screamed as she cradled her in the crook of her elbow like a baby. “Let me take her home with me--just for tonight.”

So Rules and I sort-of shared custody of Spiffy right from the start. She’d take her home about 2-3 nights a week; whereas I had her the rest of the time. When I left Denver for New York, Spiffy was in good, familiar hands.

About 6 months to a year after I left Denver, I came back to see Spiffy. It was my first return to Denver and as Rules drove me from the airport, she suggested we play a little game.

“Tell you what,” she said with a mischievous smile, “use the front door to get in the house and run up to the top of the steps. I’ll let Spiffy in thru the backyard. Let’s see how long it takes for her to find you. Ha!--she’ll be so surprised!”

We shared a laugh as we envisioned Spiffy’s face, but as we got closer to the house I decided I didn’t like our game.

“No offense Rules,” I told her from my passenger seat, “but I’d rather not trick Spiffy like this. She’s trying to make sense out of life just like we are. I don’t want her to think I might jump from behind a closet door after six months or suddenly appear at the top of the steps like a ghost. You should’ve taken her with you so she can see how it works. How you drive out to the airport and pick me up. After a time or two she’d get it. Oh, we drive out to this one place and that’s where Lodo comes in.

Rules looked at me incredulously.

“...You think that’s what I should’ve done?” she asked.

“Absolutely, Spiffy’s smart...”

But Rules stopped talking for awhile.

Anyway, Spiffy’s really smart and curious, which got her into a lot of trouble as a pup. She got hit by a car one time and was stolen for a few days. She escaped from the backyard two times and squirted out the window of Rules’ car up in Winterpark. That was particularly funny ‘cause we approached the bottom of our run, looked down toward the chair-lift at the base of mountain. Hey isn’t that? Oh my God how’d she get out!

There was certainly no guarantee Spiffy would make it to ten years old, that’s for sure. I even said that to Rules when I left for NY. I said, “Spiffy’s either gonna live to double digits or get herself killed in some horrific tractor accident.”

But it turned out to be double-digits. Good work Spiffy--and to you Rules!!!!

Spiffy (w/ frisbee), w/ Rules (center) and my Dad:

Spiffy's (10) years old, but she still has a hop to her step. Happy Birthday girl!!!

Jaybird (left)/Spiffy (right):