Sam

I’d never had a pet before. Sure, some betta fish here and there, one of whom I treated way too much like a person (or at least not just a fish). But Sam was both our family’s first real pet and my first real pet.

The kids did what all kids do — they begged and pestered and prodded and promised until we gave in. The kids then did what all kids do — they promised to take care of him and then promptly forgot the promise the minute we got him. 

We found Sam through a wonderful rescue organization called BadAss Brooklyn Animal Rescue. He was being fostered by a nice woman in Fort Greene and there was really no chance we weren’t going to come home with him. The point of a rescue dog is to rescue them so even though Sam was kind of funny looking — he was missing a toe and had these lumps of fat in his back — he was our guy from minute one.

He was really nervous that first day. I remember the kids giving him a bath and he shook the entire time. It took him a little while to adjust. He went from being abused and homeless on the streets of Dallas to being in a kill shelter to being with a family that really loved him. It took time. But not really that long. He knew. We did too.

And while he was very much the family dog, he was also my dog. I was his person. I’m not sure if he was because thought I needed him the most or if, as some scientists say, he was going to just be drawn to whoever in the family had the most testosterone, but either way, we became a pair. He’d come to work with me. His attendance record at meetings was perfect. I learned pretty quickly not to bother with dog runs because he’d just sit on the bench next to me (also, I’m not that social, so after a few weird conversations with strangers, that was enough dog run for both of us).

Even though Sam was only 25 pounds and not all that fierce, he definitely saw himself as our protector. In his mind, if I was in a prone position, I was vulnerable and it was his job to make sure no one got too close. It didn’t matter if it was the kids or anyone else approaching, if my feet were up, you weren’t getting between him and me. That made me feel really good. Loved.

He wasn’t perfect. We took him to a party once and he bit a bunch of kids (their parents overreacted; he didn’t even break the skin). Upstate, he would disappear for hours at a time, roaming the neighborhood, driving the other dogs crazy because they were penned in by electric fences while he just darted on and off their lawns. He wasn’t a humper, but there was something about Lyle’s friend William that Sam just couldn’t resist. He was also the mascot at Common Table (the soup kitchen I work at), eating scraps from the kitchen floor and violating every health code imaginable (note to the Department of Health — it’s been a few years and the statute of limitations has definitely passed).

A few years ago, my daughter was having a really hard time and we got her a cat. When the cat arrived early one morning, we had no idea how Sam would react. Maybe he’d just assume the normal posture of dogs and cats and terrorize her. Maybe he’d be jealous that there was a new pet in the house. But when he saw her, he just wagged his tail. I think he thought it was his cat. And from then on, he took care of her as best he could. Showed her the ropes. Woke her up every morning when it was time to eat. Welcomed her to the family better than we ever could.

When the family dynamic changed, when the separation occurred, Sam was there for all of us. We needed him. He knew that. And he never let us down. Covid. Divorce. A sick kid. He was there for all of it. Helped us get through all of it. 

Sam was 5 when we got him and that’s assuming they knew his actual age and were telling the truth (it’s easier to get younger dogs adopted). He started slowing down when he was around 13, spending more and more time in his bed. Things started to really change in the last year. Walks became mainly up and down the block. He did his business and then immediately wanted to go back home. A few months ago, he had to start wearing a diaper indoors. About two weeks ago, he really started struggling to walk at all. His hind legs kept giving out. 

On Friday morning, he couldn’t walk at all. We took him to the animal hospital on 62nd Street. He spent the day in tests and observation. When we met with the doctor, she was very kind but also candid. Sam had severe kidney failure (we knew from the vet over the years that he had kidney issues so it wasn’t a surprise). They offered to try one thing overnight that could help remove a blockage. I knew it was a long shot but took them up on it anyway.

Saturday morning, we decided we didn’t want to wait around all day for a call from the doctor so we went to go see him. Different doctor this time but equally kind. And honest. She wasn’t going to push euthanasia, but when I asked about it, she was clear that was the right thing to do. Abby was coming home from college that day so my hope was that Sam could make it one more day to let her say goodbye.

I brought him home Saturday morning and put him in my bed. Lyle, Sam and I spent the next 26 or so hours there together. Sam hadn’t eaten in days. Stopped drinking water. Didn’t want it. Couldn’t move. He was ready. 

Having the extra time with him was both wonderful and incredibly hard. I wouldn’t trade those hours of being able to sing to him and rub his back for anything. But there was also a literal death sentence hanging over him. 

We had a service for Sam on Sunday. Each of us said a few words and I made a video of some of our favorite photos from over the years. Everyone then left and Sam and I waited for the doctor. She came at around 2. She gave him a sedative, he fell into a deep sleep, and a few minutes after that, it was all over.

I spent about twenty minutes with Sam after he passed. It was weird. He was there, physically exactly the same as he’d been minutes earlier. But also gone. His body was a shell. Essential in life, but useless afterwards. But maybe his soul lives on. I hope it does.

Adopting and rescuing a dog was one of the best things I’ve ever done. It’s a cliche, but Sam did as much for us as we did for him, if not more. I’m very, very grateful to have had him in my life for the past nine years. I miss him already. 

But as I’m writing this and as I look at his photos, I’m smiling too. And as I think about him all the years to come, I always will.