Sam

I have never been a dog person, but that's all about to change. His name is Sam. He is about a year old. He is part beagle, part basset hound. He has been roaming the streets of the small town in Texas where I live for half of his life. I kept seeing him running down the street, sitting on the corner, and wondering where his family was. He didn't look like your typical runaway mutt. I even called the shelter once and reported him as a stray, when I saw him on the same corner two days in a row. It was pretty obvious he wasn't being taken care of. Sometime after I called the shelter, I saw him running down the street again. My husband and I were taking a walk and he started following us. We were standing in the street talking with the neighbor about who he might belong to, when a car pulled up and someone leaned out and called to him. Then she spoke in our direction. "I don't know who he belongs to, but we've been taking care of him."  With that she scooped "Roscoe" (Roscoe? didn't she mean "Flash"?  Roscoe was the sheriff. Flash was Roscoe's dog.) into the car and drove away.
I was relieved that he had a home. That didn't last long, because just a couple of days later I saw him again. He came up in the yard, and we petted him, and then he took off down the street. I told my neighbor, "If the people that own that dog don't take better care of him he is going to get run over." Less than an hour later, my thirteen year old son came running up to the house, yelling "MOM, MOM, THE DOG GOT RUN OVER!"  My heart in my throat, I grabbed my phone, and ran over. There was a gathering of neighbors around the dog. Nobody was really sure what to do, as it was Sunday, and the local vet's offices were all closed.  Fortunately, one of the neighbors standing there  had a telephone book in his hand, and I had my phone, so I started calling all the vets. Well, there are only three in my town, and only one answered the phone,. She informed me that she would not take the case unless someone could "take financial responsibility" for the dog. At the time, I had exactly seven dollars in my account, so I started talking with the neighbors about what could be done. At this point, the animal control officer drove up, and prepared to take the dog to be euthanized. Apparently, the people who ran over the dog had the courtesy to call the pound to pick it up, even though they didn't have the courtesy to stop when they ran over it. One of the families gathered around the dog volunteered to pay for the dog to go to the vet to save his life, so the officer then went on his way. My son covered the dog with his jacket, and hunted down some old sheets to transport him to the vet, and helped them load him in the car. Away they went, leaving us all wondering whether he would make it or not. I was pretty sure the dog was going to die. I didn't know which neighbor had taken him, so there was no one to ask how he was doing. About two weeks later, a young man who lives across the street came to the door, and left a message for my son. "Tell Matthew, that the dog is OK. He didn't even have any broken bones or anything, just some cuts and bruises." Once again, I was really relieved that the dog had found a good home.
Fast forward a couple of more weeks. I looked outside, and there was the dog. I didn't know where to take him, so I brought him inside, and he stayed with us for the day. Later on in the evening, I started looking for his owner. I came upon a house with a mom and dad and two kids, and they were just starting out to look for him. When "Wishbone"(wishbone? wishbone was a Jack Russell Terrier!!?) as they called him, saw them, he ran up to them, tongue lolling and tail wagging, I was glad to see that he had a happy home.
A couple of days later, he was back again. This time I wasted no time and took him home immediately. I was a little more unsure about his home, though, when I arrived. The lady that met me told me that she was having a hard time with him, because he kept getting out, and she couldn't keep chasing him down, with two toddlers to take care of.
The next time, he was still at our house when the dad came looking for him. We were standing on the porch, and he walked up, and asked us if we knew of a good home for him, as they were thinking of getting rid of him. I said, "yeah, sure, we would take him," but since they were still thinking about it, to talk it over with his wife, and let us know." Well, we never heard. I saw the dog again, running down the street, and loaded him up in my truck, and took him back. This time, the lady told me "I keep letting him out, and you keep bringing him back." I would have taken the dog home right then, but she didn't want us to take him while her son, who had become attached to the dog was there. She told me her husband would come by later that evening, alone, and bring him. While we were over there, my husband asked if he could see where the dog was getting out, and he went to that place, and fixed it for the lady.
We went home and waited for the dad to bring the dog by, but he never did. Two weeks went by. My husband saw her chasing the dog down the street one more time, and she was adamant that they had decided to keep the dog.
Meanwhile, thinking that WE were keeping the dog, I had gone out and bought a collar and some dog food, and had been busy dog proofing my home. When I found out she changed her mind (again) I kept all the stuff because I figured it was just a matter of time before they changed their minds (again).
So, the day before yesterday, my son comes home from school, and says "mom, I saw "Sam" (that's what we started calling him) at school. I think the pound came and got him because I looked a minute later, and he was gone, and they ALWAYS call the pound on stray dogs at school." I decided to give the family one more chance to do right by their dog, and had my son go over to their house, and tell them he thought the dog was in the pound. He came back indignant, and amazed. "They didn't seem to care! They were smiling!"
So I called the pound, and sure enough, he was there. I made arrangements to pick him up this morning. I asked the animal control officer if we could have him, if we picked him up, since the owners didn't seem to care too much, and he said "Yes".
I thought the animal shelter was in the back of the police station but I was in for a surprise. The officer asked me to follow him in my car. I started off, wondering where we were going. We drove out of the city limits, and down a bunch of curvy twisty country roads, and finally stopped at a ramshackle old barracks type building, surrounded by empty acreage. I could hear the dogs right away, and the smell was horrendous. I walked in and was greeted by the most dismal sight you could possibly imagine. Concrete kennels, all in a row, with two to four dogs in each. It was dark, and dank, and really smelly. You got the feeling when you walked in, that this was the last stop for these dogs. There were big dogs and little dogs, and one really aggressive dog that was shut up behind a solid metal door. There were triplet baby pit bulls, with big white blazes on their chests. They were adorable. I couldn't imagine how they came to be in this place. And right in the middle of this melee of dogs, was Sam. So I took him to the vet, and the groomer, and then I brought him home. He's mine. Welcome to the family, Sam.

Oh, and I named him Sam after Sam Rayburn. Sam Rayburn was from around here and was Speaker of the House, in the fifties. He did much for our county and is really loved here. He did much for the community. Sam seemed to be a community dog, so I deemed it appropriate to name him after the other Sam.