For Spencer | Jonah J. Martinez
A little over two decades have passed; I still try to remember the day they brought me home. May 26th, 2004. 1:59 P.M. A lot of firsts happened that day. Light seeped through my eyes for the first time once they cut the cord from around my neck. Air entered my lungs for the first time. The day my creators first uttered my name. I remember the warmth of my mother’s embrace. My father, a man who rarely ever cried, had tears streaming down his face.
When I was carried into the place I would call home for a decade of my life, I met an unexpected little fellow. Something I initially believed was a white ball of silky hair, given legs. The sounds it made seemed more like chirps than actual barks. But when my mother waved her finger, he would be obedient.
This wondrous little creature my parents called, “Spencer,” which I would soon learn was our family’s little white maltese. Looking back, I think of him now as the first Martinez son, which would make me a middle child. I was told that when I was still in the hospital with mom, my dad would bring home pieces of clothing with my scent on it so Spencer would adjust to my presence. Around the time I began to grow my first teeth, my mother would give me baby carrots. Spencer loved his baby carrots. He would sit and expect you to hand him one when you’d pull them out of the fridge.
Spencer was very well-trained. My mother would tell me that within a couple of days after bringing him home in 2003, he was already housebroken. “Smart dog,” my father would use to describe him. Interestingly, he was so gentle with me as a baby. It was like he was aware of how fragile I was, but time would prove that we were equally as fragile in the moment. Spencer and I were almost inseparable for about four years.
In 2007, my brother was born. His birth went a lot smoother than mine, as there was no umbilical cord constricting his breath. He was brought home in the beginning of March, and spent a lot of his time away from Spencer. By that time, I was around two years old, but no taller than three feet. I would walk over to my brother’s crib just to see him. My brother had become my favorite person in this world, and I think in my mind I made an unspoken vow with myself. Protect him at all costs. I still hold this belief.
I wish I could have been aware enough to do the same thing for Spencer. He was not used to my brother, and of course, Spencer was a little skittish around my brother as he was learning to walk. But Spencer did his best to get to know my brother, like he did for me. It got to the point as Spencer would try to play with him, it would get kind of rough. My brother would press his weight on Spencer’s back, which only served to hurt him.
The charade of playful unawareness by my brother towards Spencer’s condition led to frequent trips to the veterinarian. I was worried about that poor dog. I could tell my parents were, too. They were conflicted as my attachment to Spencer had grown too strong. My grandparents who lived about ten minutes away from us, offered to take Spencer in.
I fought my mother on this, as my little heart at the time couldn’t take it. “Why would you give away my best friend?” I shouted. My parents justified it to themselves that it was for the greater good. We got to keep Spencer close, but also far away enough so that my brother wouldn’t accidentally hurt him. When Spencer moved, my parents at least took me over to see our grandparents so I could play with him.
Luckily, Spencer wasn’t alone. Not only did my Nana grow to adore him, there was another dog in the house with him. A wheaten terrier with mocha-colored curls and a deep-black beard on his face. Morgan. He was about the same age as Spencer. No matter the architecture of their relationship, Spencer and Morgan became inseparable. They shared meals, would play together in the yard, and were both very happy to see me whenever I decided to visit my grandparents. Every time I’d walk into their house, Morgan would release a bellowing bark, followed by Spencer’s chirps. They’d bark for about five minutes until I finally decided to pet them. I’d argue the distance strengthened the relationship between Spencer and I. The family would come together in Nana and Poppy’s RV, and we’d take trips to parks and go on hikes. Morgan was one to pull on the leash, compared to Spencer’s well-paced strut. My brother and I would occasionally come over for dinner, in which I’d feed the dogs table scraps. After grade school, they really would make the end of my day worth it; and in middle school my grandma would send me pictures of them during class to brighten up my day.
When we would go on family trips to Rockport, Massachusetts, the dogs would feel as free as birds. I remember once, I was buried about neck-deep in sand, the dogs came over and started licking me. The laughter plastered across my face was unbelievable. Spencer and Morgan would run across the beach together, their manes flowing in the wind like a symbol of honor. Those were my boys. From youth to my teenage years, they were always there. As I continued to grow, Spencer and Morgan played a strong part through my developmental years.
. . .
2016. My second year of middle school. The dogs were beginning to get up there in years. Spencer had lost a lot of weight, but was still healthy. His flowing curls had started to become droopier. His eyes became a deep gray, as he had been developing cataracts. But he was still ol’ lovable Spencer. Morgan on the other hand, wasn’t taking to age as well as his counterpart. Being almost 14 years old, that’s a long time for a bigger dog to live.
Morgan began to have accidents within the house. Like Spencer, he was always very well-housebroken. But once he got to be that old, his mind seemed to just go. We thought this was going to be the worst of it, but then Morgan started throwing up his meals. We had to start being very careful with what we fed him, at risk of him losing it. But he was still Morgan. Old, maybe a little dementia-ridden, but still Morgan. Spencer, even though he may have had a hard time seeing, stuck by his side.
We took Morgan to the vet one day in early 2017. We walked out with the knowledge that Morgan had stage two liver failure. He was given approximately three months to live; to the vet, he’d be gone by April. But, Morgan proved us all wrong and kept his spirit high until he couldn’t any more. He ran again like he was half his age again. While he still struggled to eat, he was taking food better. He still barked at the door like he always did. He would help guide Spencer. Morgan was strong, as he survived till about ten months after his initial diagnosis.
We lost Morgan in mid-October of 2017. The pain got to the point where he couldn’t walk anymore, and to watch him suffer would be inhumane. He went peacefully.
. . .
Spencer had completely lost his sight and hearing. Yet, I think he felt that Morgan was gone. A couple weeks after he passed, we got his ashes. I think Morgan’s soul still resonates in my grandparents’ old house. Sometimes Spencer would just begin to whine and bark at… nothing. We’d go over to touch him, but because he can’t hear or see, he barely recognized us anymore. He’d start shaking when I held him. The only person he felt comfortable around anymore was my Nana. She would hold him and he would seem calm. He would follow her around just by her smell alone.
When I would visit Spencer, he didn’t play like he used to. He would wobble around more often than not. But when he wasn’t walking, he’d sit on Nana’s lap. Watching a loved one age, especially dogs, I think is one of the hardest things to watch happen in real time. It really makes you think about how fragile we all truly are. The time I had left with Spencer I took full advantage of. I would visit multiple times a week, one day hoping that he’d be so used to my smell so that my presence wouldn’t scare him anymore. I feel like we almost got back to that point. I made Spencer feel loved, no matter if he was a little scared of me.
One day, Nana came home to see Spencer standing still. He didn’t immediately pick up her smell and wobble over toward her. He just stood there. She picked him up, he was breathing, but he was still and cold. She checked his teeth to see if there’s anything wrong. Pale white gums.
Nana rushed him to the vet. The vet told her that Spencer’s body had completely stopped producing red-blood cells. His body had begun to shut down. He was alive, but not truly living anymore. Nana decided to have Spencer put down.
On a cool morning in November of 2017, Nana called my mom in hysterics. After a moment of silence, my mother handed me her phone. With a deep shakiness in her voice, Nana uttered three words I would never forget. “My Spencer’s gone.”
My world froze in place. I dropped the phone from my ear. The only question going through my head was… how? He was doing just fine a few days ago when I saw him last. My childhood friend, the dog who got me through my developmental years of childhood… gone in an instant.
These days, I look back and take solace in the fact I had a friend like that. He was truly more than a loyal pet, as was the best thing about my childhood. I would even dare to say, he was like the older brother I never had. It’s been almost eight years now since I lost Spencer. I know now that he and Morgan’s bodies may be sitting in boxes on my grandparents’ fireplace…
…But from what I feel, I know right now they’re running across the beach together, wherever they may be.
Jonah J. Martinez is a senior Political Science student minoring in Creative Writing, hailing from Middletown, NY. He spends days writing short fictional works when not studying to become a lawyer. This is his first set of works featured in ARCH magazine (Fall 2025). Jonah will be graduating in Spring of 2026.