Your Pet Tributes

'Ode to Sam'

by Lillian Newman
(Noblesville, Indiana)

Ode to Sam by Lillian Newman

I feel rather odd writing a eulogy about my Daughter’s beloved dog 23 hours before the time of his euthanasia, but something within me, a place that grieves deeply, moves me to write. Writing is a balm that comforts me during this time.

Some people would say “it’s just a dog!” Those of you who have bonded with a pet know full well the emotion entailed when you are faced with the fact of saying goodbye. It is an experience that my Daughter Laura must face right now, though I would hope she wouldn’t have to. As parents we want to shield our children from the unpleasant aspects of life. Laura is not a child anymore. She’s 21 years old. A simple hug doesn’t fix it anymore. Memories of flushing the goldfish down the toilet (burial at sea), or playing the guitar at a funeral for Midnight the Bunny (Cecily’s pet). There’s a place called the Rainbow Bridge that pets go to, it’s written. It’s a place with lots of dog treats, neck rubs, bacon bits and a huge cloud that looks like a grassy backyard for the dog to run around in.

When I heard the news, I was devastated. My Daughter dutifully shelled out the money that was earmarked for her education to try to save this dog. IV’s were ordered, antibiotic, medication to block the phosphorus from being absorbed into the body. Sam is a dog, and goes with the flow. He is not feeling well. We had to make him eat, but then that became cruel. As the days went on, he took less and less food. His spine stuck out. Going outside to do his business, he fell over, but then got up to finish it. I would hold him, crying and he would look up at me and I felt like he was telling me “why are you crying? This is part of life. It’s my turn. I’m starting to let go.”

When Sammy used to come visit me, he would run, bounding across the front lawn, into the door and right to where I was seated. It seems as if he would jump up with all fours, all at once, onto my lap and look at me, excitedly, fully expecting a pat on the head and my joyful words.

Do you know what it is like to walk into Petsmart and have happy people greet you when you are trying to find pet pedialyte? “Hello, my Daughter’s dog is in the process of dying and we are providing palliative care. Do you have dog pedialyte?” The look on their faces, the melt down in the store amidst the happiness of everything around. I reached for a can of the kidney failure diet food that he was on. “We are sorry, you need to have a prescription to buy that”. The manager led me to a high calorie syrup I could feed him, and for the last 24 hours, he was on that and turkey and rice baby food. Still, whereas a few days ago he was fed 4 oz, not willingly, but he took it, this morning, Sammy could eat only 2 oz. I gave him some human pedialyte and then I looked right at him.

I said to him, “Sammy, Grandmama loves you and I will always love you no matter what.
I’ve never been one for kissing dogs on top of the head. Late last night, before I went to bed, I kissed Sammy, also affectionately known as Mr. Sam I am by his Grandmama. I kissed him on the head and wrapped him up in a blanket. He watched television with me a little bit, his body weak.

It’s not about me. My Daughter’s dog is very ill. His kidneys are irreversibly damaged. Why does life have to be so unfair?

Dogs don’t cry. I’m sure they grieve when one of their own is ill. Sammy accepts his condition and experiences his declining health.

I saw him for the last time this morning. I will never see him alive again. I will have pictures of him.

My Daughter is brave and wise for a 21 year old college student. She wants to remember him living. Tomorrow, she will drop off Sammy at the vet. Her boyfriend is driving her there. They will walk in and in a heartfelt moment to be marked for all of time, Sammy and Laura will say goodbye to each other. This part of their journey together is over.

My Daughter emerges, despite the pain, a stronger young woman. Life has experiences that shape us. As we are sculpted by joyful and painful situations, we become more knowledgeable. In time, the deep sadness of Sam’s euthanasia will be replaced by the vivid memory of him bouncing onto our laps with all four legs at once, barking at the trick or treators, going to the dog park with Laura, cuddling up with each and every one of us Newmans. My Daughter fondly called him “the dog who is a cat”. He loved affection.

God in heaven, you have an awesome new puppy. When he arrives, set him free to run across the boundless pastures of Your divine eternity.

Amen.