The Forest Dog

Born into a world of uncertainty, there were only two things that I was certain of as a child: my superb ability to play pretend and my dog, Sam. I was an only child, and in addition to that, I was a nervous child. Always hiding behind my father when he’d introduce me to his friends or crying out the day I was dropped off at preschool. I mostly lived inside the worlds that I created within my mind. And I retreated even further into those worlds when my parents got divorced when I was 4 years old.

I spent my days disappearing into paintings on the wall and wondering what it would be like to live inside them. One such painting was of a generic beach scene that my dad had bought from Walmart after my mom had taken all of the art on our walls. There was a boat at the shore, and I always imagined myself sailing off to a far away world on it. I was the master of escapism as a child.

A year had passed since the divorce, and in between my periods of daydreaming, my dad had begun mentioning wanting to get a dog. A solid white German shepherd, he had said. Named Sam. He had told me that he had this exact same dog in his bachelor days named Coke, and that he wanted another one because it was the most loyal dog he’d ever had. Now that I’m older, I understand his need for loyalty after my mom split. It seemed that both of us were living a little too much in our heads. The two of us were tired of being alone.

Dad had contacted a breeder, and after many days of waiting, it was time for us to pick up our little Sam puppy. I remember the day particularly well. Dad had picked me up from preschool, and it was pouring down rain. It was one of those humid, summer rains with just a hint of chill in the air. We drove out to the country in Dad’s red Dakota pick-up until we pulled up to large farmhouse with a gravel driveway. As we got closer, the scenery revealed a spacious fenced in area filled with bumbling, white puppies dampened by the rain. My first thought was of the fact that their ears were floppy instead of perked up like the photos of Coke my dad had shown me.

The breeder met us at the truck with an umbrella, and she walked us over to our puppy. He was the only male puppy who was wearing a pink ribbon. I remember asking the lady why he was wearing a pink ribbon, and she simply said it was because she ran out of blue ones. But in my mind, it was because he was special. Sam jumped up against the fence on his hind legs. I always thought that puppies were supposed to be small, but this one was as tall as I was. How was I supposed to hold him? I had basically viewed getting a puppy as something small enough for me to hold. Like one of my stuffed animals, but alive.

We took Sam home, and he bounced around in the truck causing everything to smell like a musty, wet dog. A smell that I had never had the “pleasure” of smelling before. It took me a while to get used to the little monster we had brought home. He chewed through everything, destroyed everything, and cried when we weren’t in the same room as him. It was almost as if I had gotten a new sibling. One who only spoke through barks and whines and mutilated his bed. But as time passed, he began to calm down. When Sam got big enough, Dad set him up in the backyard with his own dog house and food and water bowls. I spent many summer afternoons out there with Sam, and he became my best friend. A game we played in particular was that I was the witch of the forest, and Sam was my familiar. I pretended that my dad’s shed was my cabin, and I’d choose a long stick as my staff. Sam and I would parade around the backyard casting spells and protecting the “forest.” I began calling him my “wolf dog” as the older he got, the more he resembled a large, majestic white wolf. He was able to protect me from all of the monsters.

There was definitely some kind of shared magic between us. It’s been 12 years since Sam passed, and my dad has never been able to bring himself to get another dog. And although I am much older now and live miles away from where I grew up, I often find myself reminiscing on those pink, sunset evenings spent with Sam in our forest. A part of me likes to think that he’s still there protecting the trees, grass, and sticks that meant so much to us. And for once, I was able to take the world inside my head and create it in real life.

With much love to my special puppy with the pink ribbon.