In November 1997, my dog Sara passed away at the age of about 5 years old from kidney failure. The illness was sudden and her passing was devastating. She had been my soulmate for the entire challenging three years that we had been together. I called her my Borderline Collie or my Underfoot Shepard when someone asked her breed. Sara was a challenge and a delight and Sam lived happily in her very large shadow and was perfectly behaved.
That morning after Sara died he was standing by my bed looking me in the eye (the bed was low :) and wagging his tail and smiling. Sampson was not quite three years old then and he taught me his first of many important lessons - "You've got to get up. You've got to go on. You have to let me out and feed me." In his inimitably cheerful way he was forcing me to move on. He had loved Sara very much and then had let her go.
That day we went to the Polo Field where we used to go with Sara and the dogs would run and frolic off-leash (which is not legal, so don't do it :). That day Sampson picked up an ugly fruit (an Osage orange) about the size of a softball and brought it to me and then I threw it and he brought it back and he did this over and over and over again. It was the first and last time that Sam has ever played fetch. I don't know why he did it, but I suppose in his own young dog way, that was a sign or a gift or a lesson or something for me. I do know that I have never forgotten it. Every fall when I see those ugly fruits littering the road, I remember our one game of fetch in 16 years and how he took care of me for a while - even though it might have looked like I was taking care of him...
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