I was sitting at Rib Crib eating dinner with my parents, when a black lab was begging for scraps. He was getting in the way of cars, who were dodging him. He was yelping, begging, and thin. I told my dad—if he’s over by my car when we leave, I’m taking him home. It was a long shot, because he was on the opposite side of the building from my car. When we paid and left, there he was, not far from my car. I opened the door, “Get in!” And he ran and jumped into the back seat.
I was going to name him Frodo, but my sister convinced me I would regret it. So he became Sam. Samwise. Sambo. Samsonite. Sammy Davis. Bubby. He and Sidney, my female Husky, had some fights. I let them work it out, and was only scared by their fights a few times. But they learned to live together.
I immediately had him spayed, and the vet said he looked like he had been rolled by cars a few times. He was very skittish, and didn’t like to be touched with objects (such as a dog brush) or his paws touched, and became frightened when you attempted either. He was a very loving, lovable, snuggly, licking dog. But, he was a handful.
He was right around a year when I took him in, and he was still a pup. He shredded my sofa. He chewed on my nice wood furniture so I gave it all away. He shredded my living room shades. He ate rolls of toilet paper and sifted through the trash bags. He was a nightmare. But I believed that by taking him in, I took on a responsibility. After a few years, he calmed down. And he became the most docile dog. He never outgrew eating paper and sifting through trash, but he became the dog I hoped he could be.
Sam was my bedmate, my sensitive boy, my snuggler.
When he passed away, he was only 8. We don’t know what really killed him, but whatever it was didn’t waste time. By the time I realized something was seriously wrong, it was too late.
Sam will always be in my heart. It’s just Sidney and I, as before.