" Sambo "
Jan. 14 1995 ------- July 10 1997
Boykin Mix
From the blood of my dog
I watched my dog die today. I watched as he jumped
from my van dashed onto the street and was crushed
by a trash truck of all things. I saw him try to rise
but lower body couldn't wouldn't work. I collapsed onto
the ground and hid my eyes as the reality rushed into
my brain blowing my synapses away. I hid my eyes until
the shock of it deadened my senses enough that I could look,
and see my dog in an expanding pool of blood, no longer
trying to rise. Dead. And then I cried and I haven't really
stopped crying since.The tears don't flow quite as freely
the sobs are spread out from hour to hour now
but inside where it counts where the memory of my
Sambo still lives I am still crying.
I remember the day I got Sambo. After several weeks of
considering a dog and some time after the loss of
my Chessie ( another story in itself)
I decided to adopt a puppy. I went to Pets Inc. a local
volunteer adoption agency walked straight through scores
of dogs all sizes all colors,dog after dog like an arrow to
the cage Sambo was in. I knew immediately he was the one,
and I think he knew it too. I like to think that anyway.
He was about the size of two fists about 6 weeks old,
and he knew I was coming for him. Those first days were trying
but I cam not to mind the few mistakes he made on the floor
or his early AM whines because he couldn't reach the bed by himself,
so I would lean over pick him up and he would sleep soundly
beside me a habit he kept his whole life.
Until tonight. I remember how he loved to chase rabbits
yipping like a fool getting farther and farther away
until I would find him, laying on the ground panting
grinning exhausted and happy.
I! remember how he would hop up and down at the fence
grinning when I cam home and always leaned over and said
"Whushup big boy". He would sniff me up and down "seeing"
where I had been and what I had done.
I remember how he would dance and spin with that crazy fierce
grin on his face for any treat he could get.
I remember when we went to the mountains and it got so cold
he had to get in the sleeping bag to keep his teeth chattering.
The altercation with the skunk and hiking so high we had to
eat snow for water.
I remember him bounding off the couch barking like a dog
twice his size when ever anyone rang the doorbell
even if it was only the television. I remember the spots he
regularly marked outside our house, protecting us against intruders.
I remember the first time he met a cat.
The way he would sit on or beside the bed staring at me in the dark
until I petted him. I remember him chasing me in the yard
nipping at my hamstrings until I turned and chased him.
I remember him running around the house like a horse when
we played inside. I remember the grunts and groans as I tried
to gain back more of the bed. And how he could slowly
insinuate himself into your lap or totally freak out if I even looked at
his leash or picked up my keys.
I remember all of this and more,....so much more only hours after I
buried him in a nice spot in the woods. A good place to sit and
contemplate meditate or just remember and dream.
It is a place I am sure he would be happy were he alive.
I keep these memories with me so they do not go with him and
so that hopefully when my time comes I can use them to find
him in the place he is.
Because I love my Sambo
and I miss him already.
Gregory K. Maxwell
-I wrote this 2 years ago and it still applies today.
I still cry when I think of him. But now I smile
and cry at the same time.
| Sambo |
| Maxwell |