Today is my dog Samson’s 14th birthday. I just found him lounging on the stairs, and I “sang” “Happy Birthday to You” to the unsuspecting pooch. His incredibly expressive eyes said something like, “What is she on about now? She’s crazier than usual. And she calls that singing?” In addition to the new pet bed we’re getting for him, I plan on buying a special dog treat before I go to work this afternoon.
This photo is about 5 years old, but Samson looks the same. Though, he might have more gray in his beard.
To be honest, we’re not 100% certain that Samson was born December 8, 1998. However, we know that he was about three months old when we brought him home in February 1999. Actually, I should rephrase that. My mother and sister brought him home; I had nothing to do with it. The story goes that they stopped in at a pet store on the way home and couldn’t resist playing with the German Shepherd/Welsh Corgi puppy, the only one left from a litter of four. We weren’t in the market for a new dog; we already had middle-aged adoptees at home. My mother, the perfectly gentle manipulator that she was, probably knew that by phoning my father while he was eating dinner meant that she would get her way, that she would be able to bring the puppy home. When I learned what was going on, I was excited, of course, but I also resented not being party to choosing our new dog. Would I even like him? Is he cute? Wait, how are we going to raise a puppy?! We’ve never had one before!
I don’t remember everything about that first night, except that’s when Samson gained his reputation for being a genius. Although he shat three times—always under my desk, mind you—he became housebroken on his first night in our house. Having three older dogs to look up to, to model his behavior after, he must have realized early on—but not early enough!—that barking to go outside of the house will trigger one of us humans to open the door, thereby allowing you to relieve yourself in the most appropriate venue. Samson has done other things throughout the years that have earned him the highest respect and admiration from all of us. One time, my chronically unwell mother told him to retrieve my brother in the middle of the night, and he did.
But there are also some things Samson has done that have made us less proud, such as when he escaped from the house with Gigi, our resident trouble-maker, and broke a pet bunny rabbit out of its cage, which was situated outside a neighbor’s house. Together, our dogs proceeded to kill the innocent animal. That was more than ten years ago. Nowadays, my dad and I like to say that he’s the best dog that ever lived, despite what he did during his Terrible Twos (we spend the most time with Sam, taking him for long walks wherein all the dogs in the neighborhood bark at him, but their intimidating cries never seem to faze him). I used to feel guilty for favoring Samson over all the others, who have since passed away. Now, I just think, I am so lucky to have him in my life. He’s a dear friend, one who accepts me for who I am and doesn’t mind it so much when I playfully pull his tail.
The Rumination Refinery 