Please enjoy this excerpt from Spike's Tale, who wasn't yet named at the time of these events. Visit our Pet Tales page to learn more about our pet-tribute offering.
In February 2006, Jordan and I were living in an apartment on South Street. It wasn’t very responsible of me, but I wanted to get a dog. Jordan didn’t; he was more practical than I was, and didn’t want to be bothered. But I really wanted a dog.
I saw an ad—I think it was online—about puppies for sale in Lancaster. I drove there without Jordan knowing. I pulled up to this working farm. An Amish man was standing in the gravel driveway with six or seven children around him, all playing with this really cute black and white puppy.
The man said that this was the last puppy remaining, and that he'd been sleeping in the barn in the hay. He said the mother was a border collie on the farm. But he didn't know who the father was. From his looks, the father could have been some sort of retriever. He was about eight or twelve weeks old, maybe older. He wasn't a teeny tiny baby puppy. He probably weighed around 20 pounds.
I said, “Ok, you want $75?” The man said yes and I gave him the money. The transaction felt very weird. I put the puppy in the passenger’s seat and began to drive back to Philly. Jordan called me on my way home, asking where I was. I said I was driving home. He asked me “From where?” I don’t remember what I said, but I kept changing the subject.
I was still on the phone with Jordan when the puppy vomited all over the front seat and into the center console. He’d never been in a car before. I was completely unprepared and didn’t have anything with me to clean it up. Jordan asked me what was going on. I said “I gotta hang up, the dog threw up in the car.” That’s how he learned that we now had a dog.