Woman’s Best Friend

This is Sammy. He’s my ten-and-a-half-year-old Havanese fluff that I don’t know what I would do without. He’s kind, quiet, protective, and the source of a rippled sense of calm that blooms out into my house. I am also increasingly aware of the smoky film slowly lightening his soulful eyes. Every September I try to ignore that another precious year with him has passed. The love of a human lifespan has condensed and intensified to fit his short life, and the sheer power of it might very well drown me when it’s his time to go.

My dearest friend and companion has been with me across the world and back, across heartbreak and back, into motherhood, and beyond. Ever by my side, at times when I felt entirely alone in all of existence, he was there – resting his head in my lap, quietly allowing me to cry into his fur, letting me cling to him like a liferaft. He has always brought me back to a place of hope. This incredible creature has a compassion of such depth you’d be hard-pressed to find a human with such understanding kindness. He deserves every inch of the cozy divot he’s quickly creating on the back cushion of my new couch.

The only angry word he’s ever had for me is a quiet rumble in his chest if I nudge him with my foot when he’s trying to sleep. He’s my forever bathroom buddy, so I never have to pee alone. He’s the first to greet me when I come home after a day away from the house, or the forty-five-minute circuit of dropping off the kids, or the twenty foot trip to the mailbox. He’s lying at my feet right now, curled up with a throw blanket as a pillow. He’s waiting for me to fall asleep before he trots off to the kitchen to finish his dinner. When I wake up in the morning, he’ll be back, staying with me even after his corgi brother has been fed and let out, until I get up and he’s seen me safely to my coffee cup.

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He’s very cute, but not very charismatic. He’s more of a watchful wall flower allowing his brother to hog the spotlight. His excitement and joy lives in his tail, and if I say his name, even at a whisper, it quickly flicks back and forth with happiness even if he never lifts his head. He waits his turn when it’s time to go outside, knowing the corgi will barrel through ahead anyway. He’s a solid indoor dog, only bounding out into the yard for a quick bathroom break before returning to scratch at the door. He loves fetch, Greenies, and a good ear-scratching.

With both of my pregnancies, he’s broken his normal rule of cuddling (lap adjacent, not atop) in favor of getting close to his baby. After each birth, he would always place himself between them and whoever else was in the room. Now he lays at my feet when I read bedtime stories or rummages at their blankets until they lift up a corner so he can stretch out alongside their legs. At dinner time, he smartly sits under their chairs where he has the best chance at table scraps accidentally falling to the floor. He’s an excellent vacuum.

He’s also great at shredding used tissues, and more than once he’s lulled me into a false sense of confidence by not showing any interest in my food for months, only to use a well-timed sneak attack when I’ve stood up to grab a drink and returned to find only half a bowl of leftover casserole. He never puts up with the cat’s cheekiness. Cuddle buddy? Sure. But his tail is not a string of yarn to attack, thank you very much.

Sammy noses his food when he eats, gently picking out a kibble or two, walking them to a nearby doorway, and eating them there. The corgi may or may not have a few extra pounds on him because he doesn’t share his brother’s table manners and loves to hurry him along with the threat of picking up the slack. No, Sammy is a grazer, much preferring to dancing with me in the kitchen while I’m cooking dinner with the radio turned up. He loves the bits of carrot I nonchalantly drop from the chopping board. He doesn’t beg when he thinks it’s an accident, you see. He mostly lets his brother do the talking, but will alert us when the front door is opened…even we are the ones who open it. Yes, Sammy, something might be out there. Thank you.

Sammy believes in me. He has never questioned my life choices, though he does prefer me working from home. He wouldn’t be surprised if I succeeded at this whole writing thing because it would never occur to him to doubt me. He’s loved me when I didn’t have two nickels to rub together, and when we could start splurging on fancy, grain-free dog food. The love of a dog is truly unconditional and I am so deeply grateful to receive it.

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Sammy, Sam, Sambo, Sammy Boo, Samalotta, Fluff, Fluffer-Nutter, Fluff-Butt, my little therapy dog, mon cher chien, my best friend. Thank you for your love. You’ve only ever grown more precious to me, and I know you feel the same way. Facing your mortality, hearing your vet call you “senior”, has been an adjustment for me, to say the least, but you’ve seen me safely into true adulthood. I’ll see you safely through whatever comes around the bend.

Please don’t hate me when I try to make an imprint of your paw in clay.

xx

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