Personal Narrative: My Dog Sammy

My Dog Sammy

It was like any other summer day for my ten-year-old self. With my pajamas on at three in the afternoon, watching DBZ re-runs on the couch with scissors by my side so I could cut off the tops of the Fla-Vor-Ice popsicles that I was munching on. The sun was beaming through the two window panes facing my TV, causing unbearable glare. Multitasking between listening to the DBZ episode, I ran into my kitchen, grabbed a roll of duct tape, a stool, and some blankets. I jumped on top of the stool, pinned the blanket to the top of the window sill, and started taping the blankets to the wall to prevent the glare. Finally, I could watch my show in peace, with no interruptions, no glare.

Then I heard the doorbell ring. At this point I had to make a difficult decision; either get the door (which was 20 feet away from me) or stay where I was and yell for my mom who was working in the garage to go get it. Obviously, I chose the second option.
“Moooooooooooooom, someone’s at the door.”
“I’m doing something stop being lazy, and get off the couch.”
“No, you.”
I’ve always been good at arguing and the “No you” tactic was my go-to move, as it seemed to always work on my mom.

Around 10 seconds later I heard the door open, and a gasp. I paid no attention to it and continued on with more important things, like finishing the show I’ve been binge watching for the past 5 hours. Then I began to hear a faint cry, and the door going into the garage slam shut. This time, I couldn’t resist going to check where the soft weeping sound was coming from. I got off my couch and walked into the mudroom to see my mom sitting on the bench with a metal shovel in her left hand and a small object wrapped in a blanket on the other. Confused, I asked what's wrong. There was no reply. I walked over to her and at that moment finally realized what was wrapped in that pink fuzzy blanket. Still hoping that it wasn’t true I unwrapped it. Lying there in my mom’s hands, breathless, was my dog, Sammy. As soon as I saw her, I was in disbelief. The first feeling wasn’t sadness or empathy, but anger. I had to restrain myself with all my power from putting my first straight through the wall. I noticed that I wasn’t even crying; instead, I started to choke up, like my esophagus was closing in on itself. I could barely breathe, and then it finally hit me, I broke down in tears. Without any knowledge of how it happened, I immediately started to blame myself for the death of my dog. I thought to myself if I could have just got off the couch and instead brought her on a

walk, or If I could have just played with her a little more, and showed her more love and attention then she would have still been alive. I played out every possible scenario in my head-- if I could have done this, or if I could have done that then the whole entire outcome of the situation would have changed. It didn’t though, and as result, my dog died. I began to regret everything I had ever done to make Sammy feel bad. I wanted to tell her I loved her and make her know that she meant the world to me because I knew that I would never get the chance again. I tried to get ahold of myself and ask my mom what happened, but whenever I attempted to spit a word out of my mouth, I stuttered uncontrollably and repeatedly broke down crying. Finally, I managed to get out a sentence that was semi-coherent.
“How did it happen?”
“She somehow got outside and got hit by a car; our neighbors found her and brought her over.
Everything after that was a blur.

I ran into my room in a frenzy, knocking down anything that came across my path. I felt like the walls were closing in on me and I just wanted to curl up into a ball and die. I kept thinking it was a cruel dream and that if I pinch myself hard enough I would wake up in a heavy sweat, but that was not the case. The thing that affected me the most about it was that it was so unexpected. When you put your dog down because of old age or sickness, you at least know in advance that it is going to happen, and you can prepare for it. However, when I found out about Sammy, it hit me like a Mac Truck because of how abruptly it happened. After a short while, I worked up the courage to go downstairs and accept the reality that came before me. I called both my sisters to tell them the terrible news. The phone call between us could have been mistaken for a foreign language due to all of the crying that we shared. They told me they were coming home as soon as possible with my dad, and would buy a small gravestone for her. I began to call my mom’s name to tell her, but there was no response. I frantically tried to find her, and I decided to check the backyard. As I glanced through the window I saw my mom tirelessly burying a hole. I opened the door, letting my other dog Beau out in the process. I rushed over to my mom and tried to make her stop digging, knowing that as soon as she was placed in that endless hole of dirt, that she was gone forever.

I picked Sammy up off the ground, still covered in that pink fuzzy blanket that was now caked in dirt. As I stood there with her in my arms, everything seemed so unreal. I couldn’t manage to wrap my head around the fact that this dog, who was so close to me and played such a big role in my life could be taken away in a flash, without any notice. I laid down on the grass and placed her small head on my chest. The grass brushed across my neck and arms, giving me a slight itch, and the sun became blurry as tears began to form in my eyes. Beau saw Sammy and ran over to her, trying playing with her. I kept yelling at him to stop because I thought that he was disturbing her. I realized that he didn’t know any better, and I repeatedly told him, “she’s gone, buddy.” Deep down I thought that it was just a cruel joke that God was playing on me but every time I told him that she was gone, I came closer and closer to the realization that it was actually true. This was the last time I could really be with her ever again, so I made the most of every moment and began to appreciate how fortunate I was to have her in my life. I wanted to believe she was in a better place, and that’s what I kept telling myself over and over again because it made me feel better. After about an hour of thinking to myself as I laid in the backyard, I heard a car pull into the driveway and recognized the sobbing coming from both my sisters. I saw my Dad walk into the backyard with a large slab of stone in both his hands. He laid it down near the half dug up hole and began shoveling from where my mom left off. After a couple of minutes of rigorous digging, he placed the slab of stone in front of the hole. I knew that is was my time to say goodbye and let her go. My sisters and I all gave her one last big hug and my dad placed her in the dirt hole which was covered by a massive birch tree that blocked out the sun. The tree was dead, with branches that had almost no leaves on it, and a trunk without a trace of white, which gave me an eerie feeling. Gone, and the only thing left behind was her collar and the memories that we made together. To this day I still carry the death of my dog and the guilt that feels as if I'm carrying a planet on my shoulders, since instead of taking the time out of my day to spend time with her I chose to watch TV. On top of that, I carry the anxiety that it could happen to Beau at any moment. Most of all, I learned to appreciate every moment of my life, and take nothing for granted. I learned to let my parents, siblings, and friends know that I love them and that I would do anything for them because at any moment, place or time it can all be ripped away from you in the blink of an eye.