His curly fur was multi-colored like marble chocolate. He had perfect triangle ears, amber puppy dog eyes. I was smitten from the moment he popped out of the bushes, as strays frequently do, on our 10-mile bike loop. Despite a paw injury of some sort that caused him to yelp as he ran, he followed Spence and me on the remainder of our ride. About a mile from home, Spence and Caroline (in her trailer) rode ahead to get the truck. We didn't want to risk an encounter with Cindy's not-so-friendly dogs.
For a week, he adopted our home as his own, met and brought home friends (other strays, a leg bone and a deer skull complete with antlers), fell in love with Caroline, got kicked by Skip (our horse), learned to sit on command, terrorized Marie (our cat), and turned up his nose at the cost-cutter dog food Spence brought home. All while I toiled over what to name him.
For a week, we called him "our dog," perhaps afraid on some unconscious level that giving him a real name would officially make him our dog.
I was very torn about what to do. Since coming to Roaring River Valley four years ago I've dragged my dear husband Spence into countless scenarios involving stray dogs (and cats) and here, it seems, we go again. Until the day Skip decided to remind him where he falls in the food chain. He propelled Our Dog a good 10 feet and sent him crying to the neighbor's for the night. The next day I put the feelers out for a new home.
One email was all it took. I actually had three separate people interviewing me for the position of new home. In the end, Sammy, named by his new owner, went to his new home...across the street at my neighbor Natalie's house. And everyone lived happily ever after.
P.S. Sammy now rounds up the horses from a good, safe distance. And he's much happier with his meals up the hill.