The mutt lay motionless in our front yard, snow matted in his coarse brown hair, eyes half-closed and mucous running from both nostrils. I feared he would not survive the bitter cold of that January day.
“Please, Mom, please let me take care of him,” my son John pleaded.
We had recently experienced the tragedy of losing two dogs within a few years, and Harry and I did not want our children to experience such heartbreak again. The older children were now in high school and John was twelve. With their many activities they could do without another dog.
Besides, this dog belonged to neighbors, although they seemed indifferent to his welfare. John befriended him, and longed to own him, but we knew he belonged to the neighbors, regardless of their neglect.
Now he was ill and compassion forbade me to leave him there to die. We carried him inside and nursed him back to health. His owners moved shortly afterward, leaving him, and he became our third dog – Sam.
But what a mess he was! John bathed him, which improved the doggy odor, but I wondered how anyone could love that unkempt, dumb animal. Even after a bath his coat was dull and shaggy; his demeanor listless. He slunk about with his head and tail drooping. I didn’t have to worry about Sam jumping on the sofa – he couldn’t jump.
But John did love Sam – they were inseparable. He brushed his brown coat until it began to shine, and his tail, curled upward like a question mark, wagged enthusiastically, expressing his pleasure.
I noticed a sparkle in Sam’s brown eyes that told me he was more intelligent than I had imagined. Soon he developed a repertoire of tricks. When John snapped his fingers, Sam would jump into the air and twirl around. When John asked him to “tank”, he crept across the carpet on his belly like a G.I. on maneuvers. He tapped the spring-type door stop on the back door to alert us to let him outside; one quick bark signaled he was ready to come inside.
The difference in Sam’s personality was remarkable. He would cock his head and look at us as if asking a question, and I’m sure he could actually smile! John’s Grandmother Shannon noticed the change in him and commented, “That just shows what love will do!”
Sam loved birthdays and Christmas. He helped open gifts by chewing the curled paper ribbon until it popped. Then he would cock his head and look pleased with himself when praised- “Good dog, Sam!” When asked to pop birthday balloons, he bounced from one to another as if attempting to set a speed record.
We were fearful for Sam’s life when he contracted parvovirus before a vaccine was available. But with the help of a good vet and my willingness to administer medications, he pulled through. He was also allergic to flea bites, which required special attention with pills and ointment, but by then Sam was another member of the family and we were willing to do whatever was necessary to keep him with us.
Within a few years all the children were in college and our home was a bit calmer. Sam was growing older and arthritis slowed him down. When Harry and I traveled, we had to leave him at the vet’s. When we returned, his joyous bark and all-over wiggling expressed his warm welcome.
All three children worked in Roanoke during summer vacations, and Sam enjoyed their company almost as much as they enjoyed his. Kathy made him a special braided collar with a bell attached, and during Christmas holidays his frolicking was punctuated with a merry jingle.
In time Sam lost his hearing and slowed down considerably. He was content to spend most of the day curled up sleeping on his mat – a discarded fake-fur poncho that Kathy made when ponchos were the fad. Once I accidentally bumped him when he was asleep. Startled, he jumped up and bit my ankle. Realizing what he had done, he hung his head and looked at me apologetically. A pat on his head and words to indicate I was not angry with him reassured him, but for several days he seemed subdued and his body language said, “I’m sorry.”
At last his health deteriorated rapidly and we faced the inevitable decision. He apparently had a stroke for he could not control one side of his body. Harry carried him to the car and we drove one last time to the vet. Thirteen years before we had nursed him back to health because that was the compassionate thing to do. Now compassion required that we let the vet end that life. We both shed tears. As Grandmother Shannon said, “That just shows what love can do.”
By Mary Jo Shannon [email protected]