In Memoriam

My dad brought Sampson home one day when we lived in Phoenix. We had just moved from our wonderful old neighborhood to a newer, bigger house only a few minutes away. Our old neighborhood on Karen Lee was full of kids our age and we'd play street hockey, go swimming, and ride bikes with no hands around the block.

One of the kids' families had a golden retriever, Annie, who had a litter of puppies. Dad picked out a little guy with huge paws and brought him home, and when I walked home from the bus stop after school I was greeted by a little blonde thing running toward me and licking my face.

Maybe he didn't lick my face; I was 12 and have a selective memory. But I distinctly remember sitting on the concrete in our unfinished backyard with my mom, dad, and brother, trying to pick out the perfect name.

Matt was dead set on Buddy, probably because we'd just seen the movie Air Bud. Mom picked out "Sampson" and we all thought it was perfect. And Sammy he was.


He was a pup wise beyond his years and was so smart. His paws were too big for the rest of his body and that's how we all knew he was going to be a big 'un. And after Dad hosed off the back porch or watered the tiny patch of sod in our backyard or started digging into the ground for our pool, Sammy was right beside him, getting mud all over his paws. His head smelled like a chicken taco (I know it's weird, but it's true) and it did all his life.

Soon we moved to Omaha, and Sammy piled in right next to us in the Maxima as we trekked across the country. You could always see when Sammy was happy because he would smile. Also, if he started barking at you, you could say, "Show me what you want, Sam" and he would go over and show you what he wanted, whether it was food, the back door, or a nudge on the pantry handle for a dog treat.

Then we got another puppy, Sophie, another surprise from Dad. At first Sam wasn't sure who this new gal was who was always trying to get in his space, but before long they were the best pals.

We learned after awhile that all of Sam's siblings had died of cancer at an early age. At first Sam didn't show any problems and we counted our blessings that we had picked the one dog who wasn't riddled with disease.

But one day he had a seizure, and though at first they were sporadic, they eventually became much more severe and he had to be on medication.

A couple years ago we decided we wanted Sam to have a legacy because we knew he was getting old and death was not far away. He had seizures and had gained a lot of weight because of his medication; added to that, he had a thyroid problem which made him quite lethargic. But somehow he managed to pull it off and get laid, and Sophie had a litter of adorable widdle puppies:


I spent every weekend and many days after class spending time with these puppies, 7 girls and 2 boys. We decided to keep a puppy; Mom chose the darker-haired boy who was the last puppy to come out. He reminded her of Sam.

So we kept Oliver.


It's impossible to write about the 11 years of Sammy's life and sum it up in a single blog post. If you've never had a pet, especially a dog, it's hard to relate to the joy, love, loyalty, and just...just sheer happiness that they bring into your life. Having Sam as a pet has enriched my life and made it so much better. He slept in the hallway between my brother's bedroom and my bedroom at night and 'protected' us. One night when Sam was still a puppy in Phoenix, a strange man came to our door and tried to sell us a security system. Sam came to the door and sensed the man was a threat and barked a ferocious, threatening bark that we'd never heard before. It shocked all of us, especially the man, who promptly left. My mom is convinced Sammy knew something was wrong with this guy, and we've always trusted his judgment.

Sammy had a great life full of love, ice cubes, popcorn, squirrels, gophers, dog bones -- heck, we loved him so much he could sleep on any bed he wanted. He always got to lick the ice cream bowl when we were done. He would lay in the driveway under the cool shade of the maple tree out front and watch cars go by. He loved tennis balls and sitting in baby pools in the summer. If you let him out the front door he would bolt down to Don and Barb's two houses away and played with Sunny, their yellow lab and his first 'girlfriend.'

He also pooped in their yard, like, at least once a week. Or more. And they always picked it up. Which is really nice of them, because Sammy...well, he was a big dog, if you know what I mean.

There was a creek across the street he could explore, and he always came back when we called him. And if he didn't come back right away, we could always bribe him with a treat.

But dogs get older like people get older, and Sammy had a host of problems: tumors, arthritis, an enlarged heart -- in addition to his thyroid, weight problem, and seizures. Sammy couldn't escape his poor genetics, and recently my parents decided it was too selfish to keep him alive when he was in so much pain. His ears no longer perked up at the word "walk" and a treat (my mom aptly calls them crack biscuits) was no longer exciting. He couldn't walk down the steps in the backyard to go to the bathroom, and it was difficult to get him to eat. It was time to say goodbye.

It seems like Sam knew it was time to say goodbye before any of us did. My mom told me that last week he 'made the rounds' at all the neighbors' houses, sometimes sitting outside in their driveway for an hour or two until they came outside to pet him or walk him home. And while it hurts me so much that I wasn't able to say goodbye (and came so close to seeing him again), I knew that was a risk when we moved to New York.

Sammy, I love you so much and we gave you the best life we could. I am so glad I got to spend 11 years of mine with you. I know you're just a dog but you touched a lot of lives and I'll miss you, buddy.