11-22-2009, 09:06 AM
|
#1 |
| Junior Member
Join Date: Oct 2009 Location: UK
Posts: 19
| Sammy Dinks a Scot who never wore a kilt
Sammy Dinks - a constant companion.
Samson was a Scottish Cairn Terrier: that’s a little furry terrier that goes down holes to chase foxes out of their lairs. It takes guts to do that. I bought Sam as a tiny furry bundle from a puppy farm. You have a vague idea of what the dog is going to look like but all you take away is a little bundle of hair. I paid the money and stuck him in my shirt and drove home. It came to pass that all the dog asked for from life was my company and to be taken out with the horses. Yes, a little dog with short legs loved to be with the horses. I have one favourite photo of him. There he is laying down under the cab of the horse box - just in case we are off for a hack up into the forest. If I went anywhere near the stable, he'd find his way somehow up onto the driving seat of the cab before the horse was tied up in the box. Back in those days I was travelling a lot. I used to leave home on Mondays and on many weeks I did not get back home until Friday evening. But Sam was always there waiting. Apparently as the car came down the drive so he came alive and started to bark. The great thing about him was that where you went, he went. Trying to get out without him was impossible unless you sat him down, gave him a stroke and said - "I’ll see you in a couple of days". Then reluctantly he‘d sneak off to his bed. When I was travelling around England in the car, sometimes I took him with me. I was taking a chance because you can’t usually book a bed for a dog. Most hotels, especially the big chains don’t cater for dogs. So I had to be careful. Sometimes, I’d stick him my coat and do the buttons up. Then I’d check in at reception and catch the eye of the receptionist. I’d sign the forms, pass the credit card over and once my bed was secure I’d say : Can I bring my friend in?”. Then I undid the top button and Sam would stick his head out. It never failed, even when there were big notices saying : “No dogs”. Without fail, he always got in. Sometimes the manager would be in the back office, yet the girl on the desk, would just nod her head and give a knowing smile. Getting him into the restaurant was more tricky but he got his tidbits anyway. I used to wrap them up in the napkin and take the leftovers up to him in the room As for sleeping, well, Sam always slept on the foot of the bed. In the morning I had to sneak him out for pees and poohs. Then I would pop him into the car whilst I went back for breakfast. That way he got at least two meals a day. No not dog’s meat, but pretty much anything that I would eat. Sam preferred steak. Then we were off on the route. He’s sit on the rear parcel shelf. The car was a coupe and there was plenty of room for such a small dog and he was lord of all he surveyed. Sam was exactly what a dog should be - a lifelong companion. Whatever I wanted to do, that was what he wanted to do. I sat down, he laid down. I stood up. He got up. I went to the pub. He went to the pub. I’d be sitting with a pint in a glass - he’d be off round the pub scrounging leftovers or whatever he could conn out of the punters. From time to time, he’d wander off. One favourite pub was located on the edge of a common and more than once he’d go off chasing a rabbit or something. Still then during the waiting for him to return I got another beer. My only memories of Sam are of his always being there. His death though, struck me particularly hard. He died after following me on the horse. He had run too far and too fast. It was my fault. I got him to the vets but the damage had been done. One of those harsh lessons about the fragility of life. Later, as my Father was making a little tombstone out of a wooden seat of a kitchen chair, he said to me, “Well Son , if you had not known the love of the dog, then you would not now be feeling the pain.” He was right. A life spent without knowing the love of a dog, is not a complete life experience. Rocky Dog’s Dad |
|  |
Linear Mode
