When I was a young boy growing up in Brooklyn I had a dog named Samantha. We called her Sam though, because that had fewer syllables and Sam, like a young child, knew almost instinctively that hearing her full name meant she was in some sort of trouble. Whenever she heard “sa-MAN-tha!” she would look up at whoever was calling her with big, sad, brown eyes and duck her head as if to say, “I don’t know what I did, but I’m so very sorry. Please don’t be angry with me, I love you.”
Damn, she was good.
Of course, calling her Sam meant that most visitors to the house would get her gender confused and think she was a he. This would upset me to no end and I would spend the better part of an hour explaining, with all the knowledgeable, grave authority that a boy of 8 could muster, that Sam was a girl-dog, not a boy-dog and only poopy-heads would think otherwise.
If necessary, I would draw pictures.
Sam was, and to my mind still is, the best dog ever. She would sit with quiet dignity, as I would dress her in a hat, scarf and sunglasses. She would never, ever bite anyone, no matter how hard her tail was pulled or how long you blew on her face. She was smart, too. She knew that when the family was eating she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, but she also knew that if my brother and I didn’t like the food she had a very good chance of getting some. What was a dog to do?
A true doggy conundrum.
Well, she figured out that the refrigerator was next to the kitchen entrance and that it was inevitable that someone would need something from it during the meal. When that someone got what they needed and headed back to the table she would try to tiptoe in behind that person!
I can just imagine what was going through her genius doggy-mind.
Food in kitchen.
Go inside? Not allowed. Get yelled at. Bad dog.
How get food?
Humans go to fridge-thing.
Fridge-thing near me.
Sneak in!
Humans not see. No yell. Good dog.
I genius!
If it weren’t for her nails going clickity-clack on the linoleum floor she would have made it, too. Every night it was always the same, someone would get a soda from the fridge and ‘click-clack, click-clack’ Sam would try to sneak in behind him or her. It was very funny to watch her face as she got caught in the act. Each and every time, without fail, she would stop dead in her tracks with this look of complete surprise on her face. It was as if she couldn’t quite understand how we had caught her when she was being so careful and stealthy. Sometimes she would sit down right where she was, tilt her head and stare at us for a moment as if she was going over her plan in her head to find out where she went wrong.
I don’t think she ever figured it out.
We had lots of good times, Sam and I. Long walks around the block. Games of “catch me if you can” in the apartment. Days of playing with friends in the park or the street and nights in front of the TV. She didn’t care because to her, as long as my brother or me was around, it was all good.
Except the time I tried to hog-tie her like the cowboys on TV. Sorry about that Sam.
As she got older, her health deteriorated and she found it harder and harder to move around. She would spend most of the day and night trying to sleep at the foot of the front door where I think she liked the light breeze from the gap between it and floor. Sometimes, when she was deep in the throes of a nightmare and crying in her sleep, I would get up from my bed and join her on the floor.
My mother would find me there in the morning, my arm around Sam and a Flintstones pillow under my head.
Sam passed away a very long time ago. I look back on the times we had together as some of the best times of my life. I don’t believe that Sam was better than anyone else’s pet, but I can say with absolute certainty that Sam was greatest dog I’ve ever known. I’m sure a lot of you would argue that your dog/cat/bird or other animal is or was the greatest pet anyone could ever want and how dare I compare my raggedy mutt to [insert pet name here] who’s obviously superior in every way, and you’d all be right.
You just wouldn’t be right for me.
While there have been other dogs in my life since Sam, none have ever been as… well, Samantha-ish. And none have ever measured up to the impossibly high dog-standards she set in my mind. I don’t think any dog ever will.
Here’s to you Sam, the best friend a boy could have.
