Spot and Spock

"C'mon Mom, pleeease. . .just one gift?  I  pleaded with my mother .
It was the night before Christmas and Jack and I tried our best to finagle just one gift from our parents before we headed off to sleep and anxiously await Santa Claus.  My parents, particularly my dad, had developed a tradition of allowing their young sons to open one gift each on the night before Christmas.  Naturally, we assumed this night would be no different. But for some strange reason, Mom seemed to be a bit hesitant.
"You always. . . pleease. . ."my little brother implored.
"Ask you father." Mom said.
Dad was grinning "Only if your mother says it's ok."
I looked at Jack and he smiled back at me.  We both knew it was only a matter of time before my dad would relent to our wishes.   Unexpectedly, mom threw in a twist with, "If you guys want it that bad, you have to guess what it is.  Here goes.  It's black and white, has four legs, and doesn't need batteries`
This time, Jack looked at me and I frowned at him then shrugged our shoulders in surrender and retreated back  to bed.  Every single guess I could muster  needed batteries.  Besides none of them were black and white.   All except for one.  I closed my eyes to dream of my new End Table that  would await for us under the Christmas tree the following morning.
A short while later, which seemed like an eternity, Jack was opening his last present.  I was still searching for my black and white end table when mom announced to us,
"Your father has one more present that Santa left for you guys"
I can still I picture the image of an energetic fox terrier puppy leading my stocky and burly dad into our livingroom. That should have been my first clue I would be "in for a handful" with my four legged surprise for years to come.
Spotty, as I originally named the terrier, was full of spirit and endless animation.  He rarely stood still. Whether running or walking or leaping or eating, Spotty always did it with passion.
One halloween, after Jack and I returned from "Trick or Treating", Spot chose to examine our shopping bags filled with sweets.  After poking his head through one handle Spot became trapped and ran blindly throughout or dining room with a halloween paper bag afixed to his head.
Spots curiosity landed him in another pretty unusual predicament.  Once while searching out a warm place to siesta in our basement he squished below our huge boilers and cuddled against the facing brick wall.  Jack, my mom and I heard him barking but our search for him proved to be futile, until Jack yelled, "HERE HE IS!!!!!"
Everyone turned to see my brother crouched near dad's workbench while pointing underneathe the two massive gas tanks that rest nearby.  The room was dark except for one single lightbulb that hung over a front-loading washing machine which was raised on a foot high cement pedestal with a slop sink next to it.  Across from the old machine a greenish wooden beam helped support the ceiling structure and at its base lie Spots dog dishes.  A few feet further to the left of my dad's wooden work bench an angry white furnace with two small black cast-iron metal doors grumbled intermittently.  The furnace worked in tandem with a  five foot beige cylindrical
contraption which heated water.
Kneeling on the concrete floor Jack tried in vain to urge Spot to come out from under the gas tanks and my mother did her best too.  Maybe I helped somehow, I don't know, but I do know someone had the outstanding idea to get our next door neighbor, Mrs. Dillon involved.  Her method was to softly cajole Spot to gain his trust, then to playfully tap him with a broomstick.  Within a very short our black and white puppy was back in our arms just covered with soot.
Spot was our first dog but he wasn't our last dog.  That distinction belonged to a wily part german shepherd we called "Spock."  We didn't buy our second dog rather our second dog chose us.  Let me explain.
For quite some time Jack and I decided to live without the additional responsibility of a pet.  This all changed one hot summer day when Jack and his girlfriend, Joanne were in the midst of installing our swimming pool and a part german sheperd part mut wandered into the backyard where they were working.  Joanne realized the dog was thirsty and gave it some water while Jack called me at work to discuss the possibility of taking in a stranger-a dog.

"Let's call him Spock"  I said referring to the dogs pointy ears.

"Spock it is."

Our dog Spock was a unique kind of dog.  Everyone who met him probably has a different "Spock" story they favor.  Some fancy the sight of our dog scaling our backyard six foot high stockade fence.  Others prefer his feat of chewing through our wooden pantry door after he became trapped in the little room. I favor a much different story.

Spock slept in my small bed and I sleep like the dead.  He would fall asleep curled up like a donut  His nose would rest right on top of his tail.  One night, probably while having a doggy nightmare, Spock stretched his legs touching the wall nearby and slowly inch by inch edged me off the bed.  My body thumped to the floor but my head ended up wedged tightly between my bed and the wooden desk nearby.   I remained in this unique position sleeping soundly until the very next moring.  

On extremely cold days my neck still creaks.

If you have a Spot or Spock story to share, like "Spock", I'm all ears.