O Sparkle! My Barkle! rise up and hear the barks;
Rise up-for you the feathered tail is flung- for you the doorbell trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths- for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, with mini tennis balls, their eager faces turning;
Here Sparkle! dear barkle!
My arm beneath your head,
It is some dream your pleasant smile,
Spans a dozen years you’ve lead.
12 years ago, a Bichon Frise puppy was born, and she was born just for us. I have spent many of the dozen years loving Sparkle's Just Peachy Von Barkle by making up songs for her, putting her name into pop music, or using her image and likeness as inspiration for school projects, quick stories, and examples at work. Today was no exception, and I'm sure Walt Whitman adores what I have done to O Captain, My Captain, which he wrote about the death of President Abraham Lincoln.
Sparkle, though she did not go with me when I moved out on my own, is an extension of me. She has been by my side through the pure insanity of growing up: getting my driver's license, prom, wrecking my dad's car, graduation, getting a new car; going to college, joining a sorority, countless sorority fundraisers and events, getting a little sister of her own - Zoe, being an Easter Egg in my thesis, another graduation; weekends at my first apartment, riding around in the new car I bought with my savings, meeting houseguest-turned-family-member Cairo the cat, comforting me through break ups and allowing my nervous hands to muss your silky coat while I rattle over boyfriends and dates; trying not to get underfoot during my first big move but still getting paint in her tail during updating, doggie day care at my place, welcoming the surprise that was Smidge but also teaching her that even Springsteen knows that Sparkle is "The Boss," and gosh, all those Saturdays...
All those Saturdays she finds a way to be near you because she just wants to. Or the evening shenanigans that overwhelm her but instead of hiding, how she'd run to me to pick her up. Falling asleep in front of the TV in the evenings only to hear a little monkey cry, since she jammed her mini tennis ball under an ottoman and needs help getting it out. When she catches your attention, a loud YIP, a little dance and the biggest smile, draped with a candy pink tongue.
O Sparkle! My Barkle! You are one of a kind. There are so many things I could say about the little dog who helped me learn to love better, but instead I'll say Happy 12th Birthday, Sparkle!
