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Sam was
the best dog ever. A great, heavy, blonde Lab --
Intimidating to those who didn't know him and fiercely
protective of the house and the kids.
I??™ve never
met a smarter dog. He would follow me when I hung clothes
on the line. He would retrieve the clothespins I dropped,
placing them carefully in the laundry basket. He knew how to
play hide and seek, And would get between the kids if a
squabble ensued that resulted in Physical combat. Sam
wasn't having any of that. Not on his watch.
I remember
once I took him walking. I let his leash drop to the ground
so that he could roam a bit. We were close to home, he was
safe. He immediately went to the back of a neighbor's car
that sat parked in the driveway and squatted.
"Uh uh,
Sam.... not there." I said in a level voice. He stopped
instantly and moved to a bush nearby leaving his offering in
a neat pile out of harm's way.
"Want me
to get that?" I asked the neighbor who had come out to check
his mail.
"Nah." He
waved away my concern casually. "No harm done." Sam sat and
scratched, oblivious.
Sam had
ear mites. I suspected that he did. My suspicions were
confirmed when I found him one morning with an injury on his
ear that had come from scratching too vigorously. Not only
that, he was covered with fleas -- almost as if there were
millions of starving fleas in the yard of the new house we'd
moved in to, just waiting for a dog to arrive so they could
feast in earnest.
I checked
into the once a month treatment for fleas. Sixty dollars.
That would almost pay the light bill. We were so poor.
Three small mouths to feed, doctor bills, diapers. I did
the best I could by bathing him, which did little more than
dry out his lovely coat. I wanted to do better by Sam but
what could I do?
When the
ear injury popped up I became desperate. The dog was in
such discomfort. Now he had this thing on his ear. We
never once thought when we took the dog in that one day we
would not be able to afford to care for him. I had no money
to have him treated. I called the vet. Sixty dollar
examination fee, plus meds. I pictured this two hundred
dollar vet bill that I had no hope of paying.
"Do you
guys ever... you know, take payments?"
"Sure",
replied the voice on the phone, "we will finance fifty
percent of the balance."
"But how
do I know how much that will be?"
"Well, you
don't."
I sat
looking at Sam all day out the window. He wasn't allowed
inside. He had never been in the house, so he was not house
trained. By that afternoon I reached a decision. I would
either take Sam to the pound where he could get the
treatment he needed, and hope that he would find a good
home, or I would find him a home myself. I didn't know
anybody to give him to. I didn't know what to do.
That
evening after dinner, and after agonizing over Sam for the
final time, I loaded Sam in the van, drove him to the local
supermarket and tied him to a post in the parking lot. Then
I parked several rows away and watched him. I knew someone
would take him, so I sat there and sobbed myself dry, even
before the man walked up and squatted down next to him.
I could
see the man's mouth moving as he talked to Sam. Then I saw
his eyebrows go up when he noticed the scrap of paper tucked
into Sam's collar. He unfolded it and read...
"My name
is Sam. I need flea medication and I have ear mites, but my
owners cannot afford to take me to the vet, so if you decide
to untie this leash, you better be prepared to assume the
expense for my treatment. I am a damn fine dog. I can fetch
and retrieve and play hide and seek. I can understand
English almost as well as you, so you need to talk to me on
occasion. I love kids and I will love you too, as long as
you love me."
The man
paused and studied Sam for a moment and then he slowly
slipped the piece of paper back in Sam's collar. Then he
went into the store. I didn't know whether to laugh or
cry. I had seen the man get out of an expensive SUV, he was
well dressed, clearly not poor. Why didn't he take Sam.
Why? Was his resume not good enough? Had I left something
out?
I sat
there with my heart in my throat and had just about decided
to go get Sam and take him home and try something else, when
the man returned. He had a woman with him. Together they
knelt down and the man handed the woman the note. She read
it and then stood and glanced around the parking lot. Women.
We know each other. She knew I was there. I sank down as
low in the driver's seat as I could go and still be able to
see. I watched, bawling my eyes out as Sam was loaded into
the SUV. He seemed a little concerned, but went willingly
enough. I watched them drive away and then I drove home --
crying every single inch of the way.
I don't
know where Sam is now, but I do know that I did the best I
could to find him a good home, and in my mind, he's
stretched out on a nice brick patio somewhere, in the shade,
with healthy ears, and no fleas.
I hope
that someday he thinks of us and remembers the good times we
had together, and doesn't hold it against me that I couldn't
do better by him.
by C. J.
Mouser |
