These may be the 'dog days' but every day is Sammie's

By Tony Stein

My wife remarked the other day that these are the "dog days" of summer and that got me to thinking. A, about why they're called dog days. And B, about the dogs that have blessed (occasionally cursed) our life.

These are dog days, my dictionary says, because the dog star Sirius is rising at the same time as the sun. No, you don't have to thank me when that tidbit wows them at your next cocktail party.

Then there's Sammie, short for Samantha, our current dog-in-residence. Truly a blessing and an occasional curse. Our sainted pooch Laurie died in early 2005 and we went nine months dog-less. Finally, my brain clouded over with canine visions. My wife, though a committed dog-lover, warned me that another dog would curtail our freedom and chew our budget like a hungry teenager at lunch. She was, as the saying goes, whistling on the wind. I didn't listen.

And one day there was Sammie on the Internet. Mixed-breed terrier, 3 years old. Her winsome face instantly snared me. Her story - alleged story - sealed the deal. The rescue group was told and passed on to us that Sammie was a poor little traumatized critter whose elderly owner had died during the night. Sammie had been left alone with her for 12 hours.

We brought Sammie home and made several quick discoveries that pretty much traumatized us. She was not house-broken. She was Olympic-grade athletic and could easily jump our handsome 4-foot picket fence. She barked furiously at passing motorcycles, joggers, bikers and particularly at anyone who rang the bell. She had separation anxiety, demonstrated vividly by her attack on a door when we once left her home alone. She shredded one edge of it.

The people who make paper towels and deodorant spray reaped a bonanza while I grappled with her intestinal and urinary leavings. No matter how we degraded the fence with higher wire and posts, she escaped. Once I chased her down the street on my wife's mobility cart. When she was finally cornered, she was surrounded by a school bus, three cars, three neighbors and me on the cart.

And yet she is smart, funny and affectionate. When she wants to go out, she tries a fixed stare. If that doesn't work, she sings a discordant doggie aria until we get the message. When she is happy, she races up and down the halls or whips her stuffed toys to and fro in mock fury.

We loved her despite the frustrations. But I was an over-lenient parent. Then my wife jumped in with more discipline and Sammie responded. We put up a 6-foot-high, chain-link fence, so far escape-proof.

Yes, we have lost a degree of freedom. Yes, Sammie has been a costly proposition. But, as my wife observes, dogs love with heart-enriching intensity.

And so it is that when we come home, Sammie dances to greet us, tail furiously fanning. And so it is that when she edges gently under our hands to be stroked, she and we know only that we are at one.