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SAMMY'S LAST CHRISTMAS PICTURE

On 12/24/2007

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Contributed by: Dave Hughes on 12/25/2007

The photograph I posted with this sad tale is the last photograph ever taken of Sammy, our little Beagle before we had to have our veterinarian put him to sleep at 8:00 AM on Christmas Eve Morning.

A print out of this digital picture of Sammy, sleeping peacefully beside our Christmas Tree and the couch where I stayed all night tending our lovable little dog in his last difficult night is taped up on a bookcase where all our children, and their spouses, our grandchildren, and our great grandchildren will see it when all 16 of us gather for our Christmas Dinner this afternoon.

Only Sammy will be missing.

Christmas's have always been happy occasions around our small house in Old Colorado City, where we have lived for the last 30 years of our long lives. Patsy, and I are getting very much older, but my wonderful wife, to whom I have been married for 54 years now, wants to make Christmas Dinner for all our family again. We know she will not be able to do that many more years, but she insists on doing it for all of us as long as she can.

There are some Christmas traditions one simply has to observe, and this gathering of all our family who lives in this city is one of them.

Normally our Christmas Days are nothing but happy occasions as our middle aged children, their married children, our younger grandchildren and now our very young great grandchildren come and open the large number of gifts under the tree and spilling over onto the piano and bookcases, and tables. Sam would always be there, nosing around the gifts, and getting one or two himself.

This one will be tinged with sadness, maybe even tears, as we all remember little tail-wagging Sammy, the beagle that has seen the last 14 Christmases here, older yet than the two boys, 11 and 8 David and Justin who knew him from as long as they have ever remembered when visiting our house.

So why am I writing this sad little tale of loss, very early in the morning before anyone is up, on this Christmas day? For myself, I suppose, as for anyone esle. For my heart is heavy for what I had to do, finally, yesterday morning. It has always been thus in our traditional family, that Father carries out the unpleasant duties which must be done, so that others do not have to. That is what fathers are for.

We knew the day would come when little Sam would have to be euthanized in the most painless way possible, after his health had deteriorated over the past three years, as he passed the age of 11 which is already old age for beagle dogs. It just came rather suddenly in the last few days before Christmas.

Sammy had developed cancer on one side of his mouth 3 years ago that the sympathetic vet said was essentially untreatable without the effects of chemotherapy or radiation, given his age, causing him more problems that it would cure. But he was able to operate on him and remove some of the cancererous growth. For a year or so, he was better. Even though, at his dog-age of about 80 he was slowing down, especially noticeable coming up the long stairs at night when he insisted on sleeping close to one of us, and not alone downstairs.

Beagles are always family dogs, always wanting to be somewhere close to people, whether in the daytime, evening, or night. Even getting up early when I do, coming down sometimes as early as 4 or 5am, and, after putting his muzzle on my thigh to be sure I know he is there, then settling down on the floor right beside my chair.

But he was having a harder time coming up the stairs the last year, and started going up one step at a time.

Then a year ago the cancer got down into his lymph nodes on his throat, and they swelled until they were very obvious, though he didn't seem to mind the lumps under the white throat coat.

In the last four months or so, he started drinking much more water than he had before, which the vet said was a sign of possible failing liver. He tested him and gave him antibiotics to rid him of an infection he seemed to have.

Still the happy dog begged from us at the table, and barked in the kitchen until Patsy my wife did the dishes, giving him the scraps. Habits of a life time we got to know so very well.

I would walk him around Bancroft Park which he looked forward to eagerly whenever he saw me put my Stetson on, jumping up and down with joy if I reached for his leash and it rattled. He was almost deaf by now.

And when I went to bed he always wanted to get up on either Patsy's bed or mine, and we had to buy little dog stairsteps, for he could no longer jump up to the tall beds as he did for many younger years. He happily used the steps as if they were his birthright.

And then in later years, if I went to bed and watched late television, he would come up onto the bed and, in an endearing ritual put his muzzle right up next to my side, so I could pet just his head, and pull his long floppy ears gently which he seemed to like, before finding his own place to sleep.

Then several days ago he stopped eating, and went outside through his plastic windowed doggy door many more times than usual, and I started watching him closely. He was straining unsuccessfully, and beginning to move very slowly, and staying on his pad, either next to my wife's easy chair or my home/office chair. Always close to one of us. But he slept for hours on end.

We got Sam 14 years ago, after my son Ed and his wife Ha Ning had gotten him from a fellow worker who had a littler of purebred Beagles born, and gave him to Ed as a tiny pup.

For six months he raised him, but when Ed and Haning were going on a three week long trip to her home in China, there was nothing but to ask us to care for him that time. By the time they came back we were loved that little dog Sam - we had had ones before, and they knew they could not leave him at home all day while they worked at their separate jobs. Especially since beagle's are so sociable that would be cruel. So Sam became our dog. Though whenever Ed came by the house, Sam would know him and greet him joyfully.

So the years went by, and only once, when we were traveling together back east, did we have to put him in a kennel, where we were sure he - and we - were unhappy.

Both young David, 11 and Justin, 8, grew up to know and love Sammy. For they lived only two blocks away from us, and after they started school they would be at our house after school, doing their homework, practicing their piano lessons, or playing on their grandmother's wirelessly connected computer. They walked him to the park, and played with him endless times.

A boy should have a dog. To love him and care for him as best he can, learning responsibility for his care, and the other lessons of life that boys need to learn while enjoying him as a companion, with or without sibling brothers or sisters. Sam became, as much their dog, as if Sam had been in their house.

Then came the last sad days.

Sam was not eating, or even drinking from his bowl, and started breathing rapidly all the time, even when lying down. He had no energy, and when, on the evening of the 23d of December we started upstairs to bed, he could not follow. He only struggled up a few steps and I could see he was not going to make it, that he had to sleep, somehow, downstairs. Which he had never done before in all his 14 years.

So it was time for me to be as caring for Sam as he had been with us. I would sleep downstairs, on the couch next to the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve night, on which I had many time napped while he lay at my feet on the couch over the last years as I got older too.

So I took a heavier blanket downstairs and helping weak Sam on the couch I lay down too, left a low light on, and tried to sleep, while being very conscious of his movements. He was restless, and went outside several times. I put one of his pads on the floor next to the couch, with a blanked on it, and he returned to it.

Worried I slept fitfully, and got up at about 3:30 when he started to head for the door again, and followed him. He was so weak he could not push the doggy door out, so I carried him in my bathrobe and slippers into the yard. Where he could not even lift his leg but squatted to do his business, still faithful to his duty to wee wee outside and not in the house. In fact he never wet in the house to the end. Faithful and obedient Sam.

He lay down on the pad and I covered him, and went to sleep. I woke up at about 4:30 and he was uncovered, but so very still and not breathing hard, or visibly at all I wondered whether he had just died in his sleep.

I covered him again, and very carefully put my hand in front of his nose and got no breath, and then on his chest, when I barely felt him breathing. He was alive, and had been lying there so long, I guessed, he was able to breathe slowly. Peacefully.

I got up at 5:00 AM, he did not stir, and I took that Last Picture of Sam, on Christmas Eve morning, peacefully sleeping. Even the flash did not disturb him.

I stayed up then, in the other room, got coffee, and looked up the number of the Belcrest animal clinic, knowing it was still closed, and being Monday, the 24th, it might be closed all day Christmas Eve. But I called anyway, getting the answering machine that said it would be closed Saturday the 22d, but nothing about Monday, the 24th. So I left a message that I would be bringing Sam in exactly as they opened at 8AM, that he was in bad shape, and it might be the time when he was put to sleep. Which the vet had said would come with that cancer and liver sooner or later. I got dressed.

I knew we could not carry him around as an invalid. We are old ourselves, 80 and 79.

So when my wife came down at 7:30, and she looked at Sam sleeping peacefully, I told her I needed to take him to the vet, and unless he could do something to get Sam to eat, drink, and get around, it may be the time to put Sam to sleep forever.

She understood, and wept, as I got the car ready. I would have to carry him to the car on his mat and would need her help.

I carried Sam to the car with her help, she came him a last hug, weeping, and I drove to the clinic. I said I would bring him back if I could.

The clinic on Uintah front door was still locked , I saw that two cars were there, the doctor and an assistant were probably there, and I went in the service entrance.

Dr Eggleston had not heard the voice mail, but understood immediately. He knew Sam. And he knew me. He has always been a wonderful vet for both Sam all his life, and our earlier dog. And he knew he had said the time will come. Lets examine him.

So I carried Sam into one of his examining rooms and put him on the steel table. Sam coughed once, deeply. The vet came in with a stethoscope and said "That is a very bad sign, that cough." I told him what Sam had been doing and not. He examined Sammy, feeling the large lumps, then put the stethoscope to his chest.

Then he looked at me and said "Yes, the cancer has metastasized into his lungs. That cough and the sound of the lungs is a classic case. We can do nothing for him. His heavy breathing came from his not getting enough air. You were right to bring him now. Its time."

It was clear that if I took him back home, he would eventually suffocate trying to breathe - a painful death.

I called my wife a last time from my cell phone and said I can't bring him back home. We have to put Sam asleep now. She quietly agreed.

I said yes, signed the release, he asked if I wanted to be there. I said yes, he took an electric razor and cleared a part of his foreleg, I gave Sam a last hug, he injected the chemical into his leg vein. He had his woman assistant hold Sam because, as he said, sometimes dogs fight the injection.

But Sam only gave one little jerk, lay still, the vet put the stethoscope to his chest, looked at me and gently said "He's gone." My tears welled up too, even though in my long military years and wars, I had been at the death of many soldiers very close to me.

I said "Please cremate Sam, and we want the ashes. We will scatter them on the new pet cemetery that is here on the westside"

He said ok. We will call you in several days.

So I left and carried back his pad, and collar and blanket. Patsy thanked me.

I sent an email to my three kids and their spouses telling them Sam would not be here for Christmas and why, and that Patsy, their mother, took it pretty hard.

Near noon young David and Justin came back to wrap the last gift of theirs and play a bit on the computer while their parents went out again.

I had to tell the boys about my putting Sam to sleep. David, 11, took it very hard, weeping unconsolably for a time with his grandmother. 'His' dog was gone. He understood, but that didn't help. Justin was very sad too. But was quiet.

All three of our grown children came by on Christmas Eve day to console Patsy and be sure she was all right. And they looked at Sam's last picture by the tree.

I am glad I took the Last Picture of Sam, while he lay, peacefully next to the couch, and the lighted Christmas tree with unopened presents, and on his favorite pad under the blue blanket he would always pull away from Patsy's lap when she sat down, for he liked it better than his own blankets. And she would surrender it to him as often as not.

For she too loved our little dog Sam, who is better off now.

I shall weep alone

The picture will be framed. But it will stay up close to the tree during Christmas.
It is a nice remembrance.

Of our little dog Sam.

And of Life and Death.

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Showing 1-2 of 2 comments

Submitted By: Dianne Hartshorn

posted on 1/3/2008 @ 8:53:13 AM

Rated Story

Dave, I am so sorry about the loss of your Sam. I often seen you two walking around the park in OCC. In November I lost my dear friend of 10 years and I am still mourning his loss. I wish you and your wife the best in dealing with this loss. How lucky you were that Sam decided to share is life with you and your family Dianne

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Submitted By: Jan Enright

posted on 12/31/2007 @ 3:54:18 PM

Rated Story

We also lost our beloved 14-year old "Sugar" a few months ago. If only all pets could have the love and devotion your family shared with Sam.

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Dave Hughes

Colorado Springs , CO

Dave Hughes has posted 78 stories and 87 comments since joining on 3/1/2007. Dave Hughes 's average story rating is 4.9.

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