In Memoriam

As I sat sobbing on the couch last night, after I had let the wave of grief wash over me, I uncontrollably started singing.

"Sam, sam sam, Sam SAM SAM SAM, sam sam sam sam, sam SAAAAMMMMMMM!!!!"

His song. His own song we sang to him time and time again on the piano, and he would howl along (the only time he ever howled) with his family. He sang with us because he always loved, more than anything, to be included and a part of our lives. He wanted to be smack dab in the middle, curled behind our legs in bed, or digging in our stomachs and snorting happily all the way.

Truly, you never heard such a contented groan of fulfillment as when Sammy flopped down in the middle of a room where all five of us were. Then, and only then, did he truly relax. He loved his family, and we loved him back.

Was he the world's best dog? Absolutely and unequivocably no...
Samson had just as many quirks and issues as the family he lived with. Yes, he was a Schmalz through and through. He was a hoser and a bushy eyebrow, he was exasperating and he was unpredictably tender. He was Parascope and Falcor, Phantom and Toodles. He hated men (unless they knew his sweet spot and massaged their way into his acceptance) and snapped at little children that treated him like a cute puppy doll (who can blame him? It threatened his already questionable manhood!).

He lost his beautiful tan and black coloring but solidifed himself into the hearts of our family. Honestly, I don't think anyone else even liked our Samson (except Anna and Teri Smith, themselves soft-hearted animal lovers), but that didn't seem to bother him one bit. He had his family, and that was all he needed in his world. He was jealous of our time, and let us know (ALL THE TIME) when he thought you should get off the phone and give him all of your attention. He skid across the smooth kitchen floor and ran in place as we laughed, excited (each and every single time) for his 'treats.' He accompanied our family on every trip, and basked in the freedom he had at the Thousand Islands- though he never learned to love the water, and looked like a drowned rat any time he got wet. He hated baths and got lost in the snow (remember in Syracuse it was over his head?), and guarded his territory (all down Phyllis Road) with stout authority. He chased after dogs three times his size, and for fifteen years was the Schmalz Family Mascot.

I know that his eyes grew foggy, and his hearing dim, and his mind started to wander. And I know, dad, that you think maybe he didn't know us anymore when we came home. But I have to say, every time I have come home since he's been getting sicker, after the initial fright at our arrival- he never failed to seek me out, quietly, when I was alone- and he would cautiously sniff his way over my body, like he was sure there was something there he remembered, something that was important to him. And every time, without fail- he would remember me. His eyes would snap up to mine and he would look at me with his head tilted- and I knew it and he knew it and things were right with the world again. Then he'd trot away (grumpy old man that he was) or jump from my reach, but always, always he would come to me at night.

And what I hold dearest, is the sound of his little paws scratching at my door late at night or early in the morning- when he would come to check on me. I'd let him in, and he would jump up and, after sniffing my face and licking my nose, would turn around three times and curl up in the small space behind my knees. Then he would sigh, I remember the sound of that sigh, and fall asleep. Until it was time to check on the next person, and he would leave. There is nothing more comforting to me than to reach down and feel his black tipped floppy ears, and his smooth tongue on my hand. There is nothing more meaningful to me than the nights he sat up with me, licking my tears and staring at me with those big brown eyes. He was my best friend for half my life. And I will miss him every day of the rest of it. My grief hurts so badly only because he was loved so deeply, and I know that he knew that. And how grateful I am that his last moments in this world were with those he loved;

His family.

Sammy, we love you.

Rest in His peace, my friend.

Samson Methuselah Schmalz
June 23, 1992 - October 29, 2007