Sam the Wonder Dog
Our doorbell had the world’s worst clang. Interrupting my Saturday morning coffee with the newspaper made it even more annoying.
Four children tall enough to see little more than my belt buckle were at the front door. The shortest, about 7, stepped forward, “Can Sam come out and play?”
Sam, our wannabe black Lab of questionable breeding — mother a pure-blood, award-winning show dog and father described as “a helluva fence climber.” Sam, the runt of his mother’s last litter, a puppy nobody wanted, complete with a bite wound on his nose, looked up at me. What could I do but say yes. ’Course, once home, when my wife, Brenda, looked at me, I had doubts about my decision.
Nonetheless, Sam became a family member, loved by the neighborhood and, true to his father’s DNA, no fence could be resisted and had to be conquered. The city’s animal control officer pulled up in front of the house one afternoon, opened the passenger door and said, “See you later. Get out.” Sam jumped into the yard with a tongue-hanging-out smile and a tail wagging like a ribbon in the wind.
Back to the kids on my front porch. Before I could begin my interrogation, Sam slipped past the screen door and the five of them, whooping and hollering, vanished from the porch and into the street. In short order, a rope was tied to Sam’s collar and one by one, they sat on a skateboard and zoomed off down the street with Sam pulling with all his might while the rider shot a hand in the air and yelled something a rodeo performer would use to spur on his trusty steed.
Taking my morning coffee to the front porch glider, I realized this was something they had done before and carried on ’til everyone had had a ride or two. It wasn’t long before they returned, jabbering to each other about the great time, patting and rubbing Sam for all his efforts. Waves and yells of “thanks” to me on the porch and off they went on new adventures.
Sam emptied two water bowls and crashed on the front yard with a satisfied look on his face. I swear he slept an hour.
It’s said horses can read people, not showing much reaction. Dogs possess this same trait, but display their emotions, enthusiasm, fear, anger and — most of all — love. Sam had the uncanny knack of being in tune with my wife, Brenda’s, well-being or lack of it.
Brenda had a kidney disease, was on dialysis and spent a lot of hospital time. It took me a while to figure out that Sam could predict an episode of illness. He’d hover close to her. She’d shoo him away. He’d return, allowing a bit more distance. Always on target, Sam somehow knew her feelings and what was about to happen. Sam’s love and caring for Brenda proved a true blessing.
Years later, away in Denver for our first granddaughter’s birth, I received a call from the boarding kennel notifying me that 15-year-old Sam simply walked out into the sunshine, lay down, went to sleep and never woke. On one hand, it was the best of times; and on the other, the very worst. Sam’s picture hangs on my garage wall, a reminder of who and what he was.
The kids don’t come around anymore. Brenda is gone and Sam, too. He blessed so many lives, we all miss and still love you, Sam.
Chuck Bushong lives in Farmington, Arkansas.
