Tuesday, July 21, 2009
This is our dog, Sammie. A couple weeks ago, right before we left on our vacation to Bear Lake, we had to have this sweet, sweet girl put to sleep. She was 13 and her plumbing was on the fritz.
We found Sammie at the Berkeley Humane Society almost ten years ago. She was three then, and she had been at the no-kill shelter for six months already. She had anger management issues.
She liked to eat little Fifi dogs and start fights with female dogs.
Actually, she loved other dogs, as long as they were male and at least the same size as her, although preferably larger. And there were . . . ahem . . . other requirements.
But Sammie was a good girl where people were concerned.
This is a picture of Sammie on the day we got her, right after we gave her a welcome home bath. And introduced her to the cats.
Actually, the cats didn't give us time to introduce her. As soon as she walked in the door one of them jumped on her back and the other one pummeled her on the head.
Ever since that day, she's had a very healthy respect for the cats in our household. One of them would be standing in her way and Sammie would give them her no-eye-contact look and give them a wide berth. "See, I'm not looking at you. You da man. Peace."
And as if the cats weren't enough, we brought kids into the mix. Sammie took that in stride too. The babies would pull on her ears and tail, grab her in all sorts of uncomfortable places, and still she was happy to be part of our family.
And we were happy to have her in our family.
Sammie brought a lot of joy into our house. What dog doesn't? She was always happy to see us when we got home. She liked to be around her people more than anything else.
Sammie started out as a California dog, but when we moved to Idaho she learned to love the snow. She would toss it in the air and catch it in her mouth. She loved that.
But Sammie started slowing down over the past several years. She was getting old and her body started to fail her. She used to be lightening fast, but towards the end every step was a chore.
She never complained though. She was a stoic dog. Every night she would make the trek to the basement because she wanted to be around her people. Going down wasn't so bad, but going up was a chore. She had arthritis so she had to take the stairs at a cant and one slooooooow step at a time. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It was like listening to someone drag a corpse up the stairs every night. If I could have carried her, I would have, but like me, Girlfriend had some junk in her trunk.
But the person who's feeling the loss of our sweet girl the most is Peanut Head. He was her man and she was his dog.
Sammie, wherever you are right now, we love you and we miss you.