I couldn’t wait to move out of the dorms and into a house. Not because of the extra room, or the lack of neighbors above me. No, because I would finally be able to get a dog! Once I got all my stuff moved in and situated, I began searching in earnest for you. Because I had a yellow lab as a kid, I was looking for a lab puppy. However, there were none to be had in the animal shelters in the Sacramento area, and I couldn’t justify spending $400 for a dog when so many great dogs were available for adoption. After a few weeks of searching, I found you at the Nevada County Animal Shelter. You were there with four or five of your brothers, but you were the most “lab-looking” of them all. So I picked you, the little tan puppy with the white chest and the white toes, and the black-tipped tail. I had your name picked out already; Sam. I filled out the paperwork and drove you to your new home. You were no bigger than a football, and your entire head fit in the palm of my hand; you put it there and slept on the ride home. I fell in love with you instantly.
As you grew up, you had your mischievous times. You ate an entire couch, the bare frame of which Jay and I had to toss into a dumpster under the cloak of darkness before the movers came to pack my stuff for Florida. You may not remember, but you ate half of my VHS tapes when I left you with John so I could fly home for my dad’s funeral. Adding insult to injury, you didn’t even have the common courtesy to eat both tapes in a 2-tape movie. Take it from me, Sam…Part one of Titanic does not flow well into part two of Scarface. More than a few plot holes get uncovered. But I guess I should be thanking you for that, since the destruction of my tapes is what prompted me to convert to DVDs. You always were ahead of your time. And we won’t even go into the details about how you excavated several yards of soil from the backyard trying to catch the gophers that were tunneling in from the field behind the house.
But you grew up to be a fantastic dog, Sam. On our trip from California to Florida, we stopped at a hotel in Fairview Park, IL where you rode on your first elevator. I’ll never forget your face the first time you felt that rise in your stomach as we ascended. Later that night, as we were out for a walk, we came around the corner of the hotel to discover dozens of rabbits in the field near the pool. You looked up at me, ears raised and tail wagging. I said “Get the bunnies, Sam!” and ran with you as you chased those rabbits around the field. For years after that, whenever I would ask, “Where’s the bunnies, Sam?” your ears would perk up and you’d start looking around for those bunnies to chase. It made me laugh, but it also made me remember that night forever.
You were such an easy-going dog, Sam. You adapted well to my weird work schedules, my frequent deployments, and my strange tendency to move into a different house every few years. You were always willing to take a nap with me, to curl up on the couch and watch “Rocky,” or to go on a walk. As much as I hated living in a house that was for sale, I could tell you really enjoyed it; you quickly learned that whenever someone came to look at the house, you and I got to go for a walk. If it was up to you, I doubt you would have ever accepted an offer on that place. Whenever I came home, you greeted me at the door, tail wagging. That is, unless you were sound asleep on the bed. Then it became a game of hide-and-seek, until I finally found you all tangled up in the blankets. But every time I found you, that little black-tipped tail would wag.
You really loved living in Eric and Rina’s house, Sam. That expansive back yard was just what you needed to spread out and relax. Whether it was getting some sun, rolling around on your back, barking at turtles in the pond, or just lying in the grass, you really seemed to like that place. Sometimes I would just let you stay out there for hours, because I knew you liked it so much. And then, sometimes when I would try to call you in, I would discover turtle carnage strewn about the yard and a Samson-shaped hole in the fence. Then I’d get to drive around the neighborhood until I’d find you, soaking wet and covered in mud, grinning like a fool.
More than anything else, you were a fantastic companion, Sam. This was no more evident than on road trips. You were the greatest road dog ever. Whether we were evacuating for a hurricane, driving to Ohio, or just going to the vet, you were my favorite co-pilot. For short trips, I’d put you in the passenger seat so you could look around; for long trips I’d fold down the back seat of my truck and put your bed in there so you could sleep. You never barked, never whined, never fussed. You'd just lie back there quietly. Sometimes you’d sit up to look around, almost as if you were seeing how far we’d driven. We’d stop for gas, and you and I would go for a short walk so you could handle your business. I’d stop for lunch, and I would always order a cheeseburger for you. We’d sit there in the parking lot, just two dudes in a big ol’ truck, eating cheeseburgers and listening to the radio. Life sure was good, wasn’t it?
We moved to Columbus last year, you and me. It was extremely difficult; I was leaving the Air Force and leaving my friends, but most of all I was leaving Jess behind. This was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but you were there to help me through it. I cried as I kissed her goodbye until who-knew-when, and you and I started the trip to our new home. We made some of the usual stops along the way; the McDonald’s in Andalusia, the rest area in AL with the NASA rocket, and the gas station just outside of Louisville. Having you there with me helped to ease some of the pain I was feeling. We pulled into the driveway at our new place at about 1:30 AM, got inside, and set up the air mattress. As you always did, you plopped down in the middle of it before I could even put the sheets on it. We slept on that mattress that night, just you and me in a new place, a new town, and a new beginning. But you were there with me, so it was okay.
You seemed to really like Ohio, Sam. I’d take you for a walk in the park behind the house, and you’d stop and sniff every tree, rock, stump, or suspicious looking thing you came across. More than anything, I enjoyed taking you to Southern Ohio. Seeing you run and play with Mary Kay’s dogs, swimming in the pond, barking at squirrels, and lounging around by the fire always made me smile. The first time we went there was the first time I was ever scared I’d lose you, though. You slipped away from me when I had my back turned and you disappeared into the woods. I had no idea where you went, how far you would go, or if you knew your way home. Making matters worse, it was about 90 degrees that day, and I was afraid that you’d tire from the heat, get disoriented, and die in the woods. I rode through the woods on Denny’s four-wheeler calling for you, and I went to Marcum’s place to ask them to keep an eye out for you. An hour or so later, Keith came up and said that he’d heard a strange dog barking down by his place. I followed him to the bottom of the hill and I could hear you in the distance. I jumped into the creek, wading toward the sound of your voice. There you were, standing in the cool creek water, barking at cows. I was so happy to see you, Sam. An enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders, and I hugged you and kissed your head. I feared the worst, and sure enough you knew just what to do. Granted, coming home or not wandering off in the first place would have been much better, but the relief and happiness I felt when I saw you in that creek were immeasurable. My boy was safe.
Life in Columbus became pretty routine for us after a while, Sam. You adjusted well to my changing school schedule, and as always, you met me at the door with your tail wagging. When winter came, you and I would play outside; you’d run around in circles kicking up snow, and we’d eventually wind up wrestling. I was never prepared to wrestle in the snow though, so those sessions didn’t normally last very long. I’d build a fire in the fireplace, and once you realized the house wasn’t burning down (“Ding ding ding!! Fire!!”) you’d sprawl out in front of the hearth next to my chair and we’d watch television. At night, you’d hop onto the bed and sleep near my feet, curled up in a ball. You were the most perfect house dog ever, Sam.
This summer, you started getting the runs a lot. The vet would give you some antibiotics, which would help for a bit, but they’d come back. You also started to throw up every now and again. We all thought it was some kind of intestinal bug, as you didn’t change your habits, and you still had plenty of energy. We continued to treat it with antibiotics. Toward the end of August, you began losing weight. This was a new concern, so the vet did some blood work on you. The results indicated that you had high white cell count, which could point toward an infection or something more sinister. I took you in for an endoscopy so we could pinpoint what was going on and treat it. I left you in the care of the vet and went to Dayton for Reserve drill. The doctor called me the next day to tell me the news; before they could do the scope, they felt a lump in your abdomen. They did an ultrasound and found a tumor. It was about the size of a TV remote, and it was tangled in your intestines. The surgery would be very invasive, and a dog your age would have a difficult time even coming out of the anesthesia, let alone recovering from the surgery. Also, there was no guarantee they could excise the tumor. Radiation and chemotherapy don’t work well on these types of tumors, either. I was told to make you as comfortable as possible. Sam, I was devastated. There I was, at work and in uniform, and I was on the edge of just crumpling into a ball and sobbing. But that wouldn’t help either of us at that point. I called Jess that afternoon and told her, and I cried a little. But then I got myself together and soldiered on.
When I picked you up the next day, you were your normal self. You were getting really skinny now, but you still acted like your usual self. One great thing about dogs is that they don’t understand what cancer is, so you weren’t upset. You were just happy to see me, wagging your black-tipped tail. We went home, and the pampering began. Nothing was off-limits for you. No longer would you eat dog food. I changed your diet to ground beef, chicken, turkey, or pork with rice. And then we went on vacation! We loaded up the car and drove down to Florida to see Jess and Ham. As usual, you were a wonderful traveling companion. We made the usual stops, grabbed a cheeseburger, and pulled into her driveway at about 9:30 PM. You made yourself right at home, and we began a terrific 2 ½ week vacation. We took you and ham to the dog park, where even though you were slower than you used to be, you still played with the other dogs and made new friends. We went on walks, we ate tasty food, and we slept on the couch. By now, your runny poops and barfing were almost nonexistent, and you really seemed to enjoy yourself. The only thing I didn’t get a chance to do was take you to the beach. I regret that. But you’ve never been much of a beach dog, and I think that we still had a good time.
The drive back to Columbus was hard for me, Sam. I knew that you had taken your last Florida vacation. I knew that it wouldn’t be long before your health started taking a turn for the worse. When we pulled into the driveway late that night, it felt like when we first made that trip. I opened the door, and the house had that same smell. I was instantly transported back in time to when we first moved here. Except this time, I knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay much longer to keep me company. I suddenly felt very alone, and I cried as I held you.
I had two Reserve weekends back-to-back when we got home, and I couldn’t bear to put you in the kennel, Sam. You didn’t have many weekends left, and the thought of you spending any of them in a cage tore me up. I made a tearful plea to the vet, and she arranged for you to stay on the hospital side, where the staff let you wander around during the day. I made you lasagna to eat while you were there. You were happy to see me when I showed up on Sunday, and your black-tipped tail was wagging like mad. The next weekend I took you to stay at Jeanie’s farm. You had never seen horses before, and we laughed as you barked at these weird creatures. When that great big pig came around the corner, you lost your mind! Oh, the barking! She just grunted and ignored you, but you barked and barked. When I picked you up on Sunday, Jeanie told me that you had a good time playing in the barn, but that you didn’t eat much. You looked even skinnier than you did when I dropped you off on Friday. We went home, and you promptly fell asleep. After such an exciting weekend, you were exhausted!
That night, I noticed that your breathing had become shallow and raspy. You seemed to be congested, too. You still slept through the night, so I figured maybe you were just still tired from your farm weekend. Monday night was more of the same, and this time you had to stop halfway up the stairs to catch your breath as we went up to bed. You’ve never done that before, and I knew that you were getting weak. Your breathing was still very labored, and you had what seemed to be a coughing fit at 1:30 AM. I cancelled an appointment I had the next morning so I could be with you. I took you for a walk that morning, and you were too weak to make it more than a few driveways down the street. You still had that same curious look in your eyes as you sniffed and peed on every tree, rock, and bush. Your black-tipped tail wagged. But you just didn’t have any more fight left in you. We came inside, and you slept on the couch while I went to class. On my way home, I stopped at the store and bought two big filet mignon steaks. I wrapped them in bacon and grilled them up for you and me. We ate those steaks in the living room, just two guys hanging out and devouring slabs of meat cooked over a flame. Manly stuff. You polished off your steak with some ice cream, and we watched television until it was time for bed. You slept beside me, snuggled in the fuzzy blanket on the bed.
Yesterday I called the vet to talk about you, Sam. She agreed that it was time. You weren’t going to get better. You weren’t going to magically put on 40 pounds and be healthy again. And you weren’t going to enjoy pain-free life for much longer. I decided that I had to do what was best for you, my friend. I made the most difficult decision in my life. At 11:00 the next day, I was going to take you to see your friends at the vet’s office one last time.
Today was one of the most unbearable days of my life, Sam. I woke up knowing that the clock was ticking down. Our time together was running out. I drank my coffee and let you sleep on the bed for a while longer than normal. I went up to get you, carried you downstairs just so I could hold you close, and took you outside. When we came back in the house, you were tired and you struggled a bit to get up the steps into the door. You plopped down on your bed in the living room and I brought you some breakfast ice cream. I got dressed and ready to go. Before I came back downstairs, I folded up your green blanket that was on the bedroom floor and put it in the guest room. I clipped your leash to your collar and we went to the car.
I didn’t turn on the radio as I always do. I just rolled down the back windows so you could bask in the cool morning breeze as we drove. You looked so peaceful back there, though I could tell you were taking shallow breaths. When we arrived at the vet’s office, you climbed out of the car and slowly ambled to the door, stopping to sniff the rocks out front where you’ve peed dozens of times over the past year and a half. I carried you to the exam room, again so I could hold you close. They had a blanket laid out on the floor for you, and I sat next to you. Some of the staff came in to say hello, a testament to the friendships you made there during your stays. They really love you, Sam. Everyone was sad because they knew why we were there, but they were happy that they were able to have you in their lives, even for such a short time. The doc came in with one of the techs and began the procedure. You were so peaceful, Sam…such a good boy. You drifted off to sleep and died in my arms. No more pain, no more suffering. You were at peace.
I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve given me, Sam. Over the past 12 years, you’ve been my faithful companion, my television watching buddy, my security system, my traveling buddy, my entertainment, my bed warmer, my taste tester, my furniture fuzzer-upper, and my best friend. The time that we spent together means so much to me, and I don’t even know how to begin processing the thought of life without you. You won’t be there to greet me when I come home, you won’t be at the foot of my bed in the morning, and you won’t be next to me on the couch. But you’ll forever be in my heart and mind.
I miss you like crazy, and it’s only been an hour. I want to go into the living room and look for you on your bed, but I know you won’t be there. However, I also know that you aren’t sick anymore. You aren’t in any pain. I just hope that you know how much you were loved. Not just by me, but by everyone who had the opportunity to know you. You were absolutely the best dog I could ever have hoped to have. So here’s to you, Sam. My best friend, my companion, and my faithful sidekick. I hope that wherever you are, you find a way to drop in sometime. And I hope that you finally caught those bunnies.
