Sam - Memories of a good dog

from Yeah, What Else?

Early in 1977, my wife Barbara and I moved into our new home in Citrus Heights, California. It was a two-story, four-bedroom house with a good-sized lot and we’d watched it being built from the foundation up. It may seem odd, but the first acquisition we made for our new home was a puppy.

It was the era in Sacramento of the East Area Rapist, a man suspected of upwards of a dozen sexual assaults, all of them in the eastern suburbs of the city. I occasionally had to work nights and travel for business, and we decided that we’d feel safer with a dog in the house, preferably one with big teeth.

Barbara watched the ads in the local paper and saw one for German Shepherd  puppies ready for adoption. She drove to the address, checked out the litter, and brought home a beautiful little female with black and tan markings. We consulted with my daughters, Kim and Cheryl, and decided that a right and proper name for this new member of the family would be Samantha. And so, Samantha it was, which we immediately shortened to just plain Sam. (Of course we couldn’t know that thirty-five years later, we’d have a beautiful granddaughter named Samantha.)

I’d grown up with a pet dog, a terrier mutt named George, but this was a first for Barbara. She and Sam formed an immediate bond. Sam wasn’t pure bred—I suspect there was some Husky in her bloodlines—but she was a smart little puppy with a sweet and loving nature.

One of the first things Sam learned was to fetch the newspaper for me. I’d open the front door and she’d run out on the walk and bring in the paper. What a good dog! But it was too good to last. One morning, she picked up the paper, turned and looked at me, and then took off running down the walk and across the street. I was in close pursuit, yelling at her to stop, and she made it only as far as the neighbor’s yard before she plopped down and waited for me to reach her. Unfortunately, my neighbor had recently planted his lawn and it was just beginning to sprout. Sam wouldn’t budge, so I had to walk out onto the new lawn, leaving giant footprints, to retrieve her. I think Sam came to associate the incident with the words “bad dog,” because she never again retrieved the paper.

Sam was a healthy puppy. There were only a few occasions when we had to take her to the vet. She was spayed at the appropriate time and came through just fine. She picked up a bad case of kennel cough once when we boarded her for a weekend. But the illness we’ll never forget was the vaginal infection.

We could tell that she wasn’t herself, so we took her to the vet. He diagnosed the infection, prescribed some pills, and also gave us a tube of salve. We were supposed to insert the extended nozzle and squeeze the tube to apply the medication. Sam was nearly full-grown at the time and she was having none of this. Can you picture trying to pin down a seventy pound German Shepherd to administer this treatment? After what seemed like an hour (it was probably fifteen minutes), in a full sweat and with a cloud of dog hair around us, we finally gave up. The infection went away without the salve.

Sam was very intuitive and quick to pick up on our clues. We planned a camping trip to Bodega Bay one weekend and as I backed our Pinto station wagon into the driveway and started to load the gear, Sam jumped into the back of the car and refused to get out. There was no way we were leaving home without her. It was an interesting trip. Every noise outside the tent at night—be it a raccoon, a bird, or a lizard— would set Sam off barking. We didn’t get much sleep that weekend.

As she matured, her watchdog instincts really began to develop. I would say, “Sam, what’s that?” and she would take off barking at every door and window, using her best big-dog voice.

One weekend, my mom came to stay with us. In the middle of the night, Sam suddenly started barking like crazy. I sat up in bed and saw someone standing in the hall just outside our bedroom door. I jumped up, grabbed a baseball bat I kept under the bed, and in a very shaky voice said, “Who are you and what are you doing here?” The figure replied, “Charlie, I just have to go to the bathroom.” It was my mom.

After things calmed down, I said a little prayer of thanks that it wasn’t a gun I had stashed under the bed.

In the fall of 1978, we learned that Barbara was pregnant—with twins! We had also realized in the time Sam had been with us that we were allergic to her fur. Now with two little babies on the way, we decided some changes had to be made. I would build a dog run for Sam in the backyard and we would convert her to being an outside dog. The dog run turned out quite nice—large, partially covered, paved, with a shepherd-size dog house. Only one problem: Sam hated it. She just didn’t understand why she couldn’t be in the house with her people.

One of our neighbors had a beautiful tan Boxer named Hosang who was about Sam’s age. Hosang would come over to play and he and Sam would romp and tumble and race around the backyard until they were both exhausted. But as soon as she had to go back into that dog run, she was miserable. She spent most of her time biting the dog wire, trying to chew her way out.

Our twins, Matt and Rachel, were born in May 1979. When they were nearing their first birthday, we learned that Barb was pregnant again. Gabe would be born when the twins were eighteen months old. It would be like having triplets. All of our energy and attention would be going into caring for three little ones. We knew that we were not giving Sam the care and attention she deserved. We started to talk about trying to find a good home for her.

Then fate intervened.

I was working for Roseville Telephone at the time and the company newsletter hit my desk containing a notice from an employee who was looking for a good dog. Her name is lost to memory, so let’s call her Mrs. Parker. I called her and told her I thought I had just the dog she was looking for. We chatted for a while and she told me that she and her husband had a five-acre parcel of land, what was called “horse property” in our area, and that they had two other dogs. The dogs had free run of the property. From our conversation, I could tell she was a true dog lover.

Then she asked her big question: “Is she a barking dog?” I thought, Uh oh, this could be a deal breaker. Should I tell a white lie and say Sam was a nice quiet little lady, or should I tell the truth? I took a deep breath and told her all about Sam’s watchdog instincts and that, yes, she was a barking dog. Mrs. Parker said, “That’s exactly what we’re looking for.”

We made a date for the Parkers to come over on Sunday and meet Sam. I told them we were having friends over for a barbeque, but to just come around to the gate on the side of the house and I’d let them in. It was understood that if they liked our Sam, they would take her home.

Sunday arrived and we were relaxing on the patio in back of the house when I heard a car pull up out in front. I heard doors slam and I figured it was the Parkers come to see Sam. I said, “Sam, what’s that?” and she charged for the gate barking furiously. I took her by the collar and calmed her down, then let the Parkers in. I could see them nodding their heads and smiling at each other. They were sold.

We visited for a while and then they were ready to leave. Barbara hadn’t realized that they were taking Sam with them, thinking they would talk it over and call us later. Now she had about five minutes to say goodbye. She sat down on the patio and took Sam in her arms, tears streaming down her face. And then the Parkers clipped a leash to Sam’s collar and led her away.

About a month later, I was out at our Citrus Heights central office facility for a meeting. I parked in back of the building near the loading dock and walked over to the fence that bordered the property. It turns out the Parker’s five acres were adjacent to the Company’s land. I looked out across the field and there were three dogs playing along the fence on the west side. One of them was Sam. I gave a shrill whistle and yelled “Sam!” She stopped dead still and turned to look at me. Just then, her companions took off running at full speed down the fence line. Sam stood for a few seconds and then turned and sprinted after them.

It had been a long time since I’d seen her so happy. For love of Sam, we’d done the right thing.

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