Sammy Boy

He was a good old boy of thirteen years when he finally breathed his last, and I knew him and loved him with my whole heart for eleven of them.
I paid the dog pound five dollars for him when he was two years old. He had been given up by his elderly and incapacitated owner. I had always loved golden retrievers, and when I saw Sam's picture in the paper as "Pet of the Week", I just couldn't resist.
He was absolutely beautiful with a handsome, square head, graceful, flowing feathering on the back of his legs and his tail, and a goofy personality that always made me laugh.
His abundant energy and zest for life always inspired me as I stood in the middle of the front yard and watched this dog do laps around the house at full speed, chasing nothing in particular. He simply was filled to the brim with a love of life.
Every day after work when I pulled into the driveway, exhausted and cranky, Sammy-Boy would greet me before I even stopped the car. He was always so excited to see me that he couldn't stand still. In spite of my fatigue, I'd have to smile and pet him and play a little fetch.
In the evenings after supper, as Mary and I sat on the back porch watching the sun go down, Sammy would come over and gently put his head on my lap. His big, baleful eyes would look up at me and say, "I had another great day today, and I'm glad that I got to share it with you."
As he grew older, I remember thinking how unfair it was that he was aging so rapidly. By the age of ten, he had developed cataracts in both eyes, and he was almost blind. His hearing had also diminished to the point where you had to shout in order for him to respond to you. And I had to give him a Rimadyl tablet every day for his worsening arthritis.
However, in spite of all of his handicaps, this sociable, loving being still managed to make his daily rounds to all of the neighbors on the street. He knew where all the free handouts were, and he managed to call on those places every morning. Many of these neighbors would let him into their houses. One elderly couple even kept a jar of dog treats on the kitchen counter just for him.
The day finally arrived when Sammy stopped coming down to the driveway to greet me at the end of the day. He did, however, manage to lie at the bottom of the porch steps with his head up and alert and his tail happily thumping the ground as I approached. And I would stoop and pet him, and he would lick my hand. And then he would make a concerted effort to stand, and we would play a little fetch for old time sake.
Then came the time when Sammy refused to go outside. So we let him stay in the house, making him go out only to do his business in the pasture. Soon, things grew worse, and he began gagging on his food. After a while, he just gave up the ghost and stopped eating altogether.
Finally, the awful day arrived when the good old boy hobbled over to me and put his head in my lap. His clouded eyes seemed to say, "We have loved each other for so many years, and you've always been there for me. Would you help me out this one last time?"
***
I sat on the floor of the vet's office with Sam's head in my lap. He was calm. He trusted me. I petted him and spoke his name gently as the doctor injected the blue liquid into one of his oversized paws. Sam looked up at me one last time as if to say, "Thank you so much for everything. I know what you are doing for me right now is the supreme act of love." Then he thumped his tail twice on the floor, and laid his head back down between his paws.
When his breath came to a halt, I buried my head into his silky, golden fur sobbed uncontrollably and unashamedly. I whispered a tearful good-bye to my best friend, and when I looked finally looked up, even the crusty old vet had wet eyes.
Sam's collar rests in the front yard garden now, in the shady spot where he used to love to lie down and crush Mary's gladiolas. I think about him every single day now, even though he crossed The Rainbow Bridge over seven years ago, and the memories are always warm and happy and filled with deep and abiding love, just like to good old boy himself.