I got a memory reminder on Facebook this week. It was a picture taken six years ago of my and my boy with my dog Sam. It made me smile.

Sam was a good dog. Crazy. Neurotic. Cuddly. Handsome. I loved him very much and was upset with him a lot too.

Like most of the other dogs we have had, we got Sam from a rescue shelter. I remember the day clearly. It was my 34th birthday. We went to the shelter and walked into a big room where Sam was penned up. He barked at me until I looked at him and said, “Yeah? What you going to do about it?” He stopped barking and turned his head at me. That was what sold me.

Sam being a rescue dog gives me context for some of his crazier habits. He did not like loud noises or being confined. He had some stuff in his past that made him the way he was. I am convinced of it. I did my best to love that out of him. It helped, but he never could quite shake it.

One time we left him closed up in my office so he wouldn’t mess all over the house. He proceeded to dig up the carpet by my door. He left a huge hole. He let us know he did not like being left in that room.

Sam also had a super sweet side. When I was sick in 2018 Sam spent a lot of time with me on the couch. He would hang with me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was great therapy. He was a cuddly guy.

I was happy to have the memory pop up. I miss that dog.

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