Sparky

The day was April 10^th. It was the first day, this year, that actually felt like spring. I was sitting on my front porch, rocking back and forth in my big, white rocking chair. Though it was raining outside, I was enjoying being out of the house and being able to take in some fresh air. The rain was subtle, mostly light showers which I liked. My Grandma used to say

“Poo, the rain is just God’s way of cleaning things off.”

I learned to appreciate it because of that.

As I sat on the porch, I started reminiscing about my days growing up in the South. As a youth, I lived with my grandparents on their farm in South Carolina. They grew all kinds of plants, everything from corn to tomatoes to cabbage. They also had plenty animals, everything from cows to chickens to goats. I learned a lot about how to run a farm while living with them, and I gained countless memories, many of which included my best friend.

I was 7 when I first met my bestie. I was standing in front of the barn watching my Uncle Lee milk the cows when something ran into me from behind. Startled at first, I turned around and saw what I thought was the cutest thing. It was a baby billy goat. My Grandpa had bought him from another farmer at our local farmer’s market in town and had brought him home. He was small and white with big, brown patches all over his body. He had two narrow, pointed ears, one on each side of his head, and he was the same height and size as me.

The billy goat looked just as startled as I did at first. Then, he started running side to side with excitement as if gesturing that he wanted to play. That day, he and I ran up and down the fields playing with each other the whole entire day, 8 hours straight to be exact. We played until it was time for me to go inside for supper. As I was making my way up the front steps, Grandpa came out and met me. He said

“Poo, I see you have made yourself a new friend. You like the baby goat, eh?”

I shook my head and said, “Yes sir.”

He said, “Well I need someone to help me tend to him and keep an eye on him. Think you’ll be interested in the job?”

“Yes. I would love to Paw Paw.” I shouted happily.

“Great. Now we just need to give him a name. What do you think it should be?”

I thought for a second and then eagerly yelled out “Sparky”.

Grandpa said, “That’s a strange name for a baby goat but if that’s what you want, Sparky it is.”

I smiled and from that day on Sparky and I were inseparable. He was my best friend for years to come, and I talked to him about everything. I told him about how Grandpa gave me the worst whipping of my life when I was 10 and how my Mom wanted me to come live with her when I was 13 but my grandparents wouldn’t allow it because news around town her new husband was into some shady business. I even told him about the time when Kenny Evans, a boy that lived down the street, asked me out on my very first date when I was 15. That goat knew everything about me, and I trusted him with every secret. After all, he was my best friend and at times, my only friend.

One morning at sunrise, a few days after my 17^th birthday, I was sound asleep, and Grandpa came rushing into my room to wake me up. He said, “Poo, Sparky has run off. He’s not outside with the rest of the goats”. I jumped out of my bed, put on the first pair of overalls and boots I could find, and went outside looking for him.

“Sparky! Sparky! Where are you?”

I looked for that goat for 4 hours and didn’t see him anywhere. I decided to try looking for him in the woods behind our house. I thought there was no way Sparky would have gone into the woods by himself. It was too far away from all the other goats, for they all usually stuck together. As I walked amongst the trees, I came upon two men standing over something on the ground. When I got a little closer, I could see that the men were hunters and that they had made a kill. When my eyes darted down, I saw an animal that was white with brown patches on its body lying on the ground in front of them. I took off running in their direction. Tears started welling up in my eyes. “Is that Sparky? Noooooo, please don’t let that be him” is all I kept saying to myself. Once I got to where the men were standing, I pushed them aside. It wasn’t Sparky. Instead it was someone’s Beagle that the men had accidentally shot. They asked

“Miss, is this your dog? Sorry but we....”

I interrupted them with tears still in my eyes, “No it’s not.” Then, I turned around and ran back home.

Days passed, and I never did find Sparky. I cried and cried and cried. I had lost my best friend. He was gone.

Now, here I am at the ripe old age of 70 sitting on my porch reminiscing about him again. The rain had begun to fall a little harder. A few minutes later, I noticed something coming up the street. Typically, cars don’t pass through our neighborhood since our street is a dead end. So, I figured it must be one of my neighbors coming back home from running errands. When the object got closer, my heart dropped. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I blinked a couple of times, even pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Oh my god, it was Sparky! He was trotting up the street. He came to a stop in front of my house waiting for me to come and play like he used to do so many times in the past.

I walked out to the street where he was. I smiled and threw both my arms around his neck. I gave him the biggest hug and stroked his fur. I immediately started talking to him and telling him all about my present life and how much I missed him. He listened to my every word. Sparky leaned up against me. I could feel the love radiate from him, and I was overjoyed. I had finally got my best friend back. As I stood there, I must have blocked everything else out around me because I didn’t feel the rain falling on me. I didn’t feel my clothes getting soaking wet. I didn’t even know that my husband had walked up behind me until I felt his hand on my shoulder. Startling me, he said

“Poo, what are you doing out here in the rain in the middle of the street?”

“Honey, Sparky came to see me. He came back. Look!”

When I turned to show him, Sparky had disappeared. He was no longer there.

“Wait, where did he go? He was just here.”, I said.

My husband replied, “Come on Poo. Let me get you back inside out of this rain before you get sick.”

“Honey, seriously he was just here.”

“Sure thing, Poo.”

We walked back up the driveway and back up the front porch steps. Once on the porch, I turned and looked back. I wanted to see if I could see Sparky just one more time. When I looked back, I saw him indeed. I saw Sparky running around cheerfully in the middle of the street. He looked at me and smiled as only a goat would. Then he turned and trotted away.

My heart melted. Sparky had come to visit me after all these years. Even though I was 70 now and suffering from Alzheimer’s, I was so delighted. Deep down inside, I knew he was still with me and that he still cared.