The Butterfly

This dog came to us as a puppy. It was clearly meant for my husband, Bill, who was experiencing “the empty nest syndrome”.

She was little, black and white, and chosen first, by my son and his wife, from a litter of seven. This dog was needed by me to occupy my husband — to get him off my back and out of my hair. He clearly needed a companion, besides me to love — and to pick on. In truth — Sam was my salvation.

After much deliberation, she was named Samantha, and lovingly called “Sam”. Sam clearly knew her master. She followed him everywhere (outside only) — into the vegetable garden, the garage to work on cars and make repairs and whatever piddely work man conceives to keep out of the house.

Well, Sam grew and grew and grew. She was noted to be a Springer Spaniel with a touch of neighborhood and love.

Sam became a good watch dog (we had a fenced in yard) and a wonderful walker with me as I took my daily walk. Everyone in the neighborhood grew to love this black and white springer spaniel with big, brown, wistful eyes. She tolerated a leash as well as her freedom.

She was fed by the neighbors as they finished their over ample cookouts and we couldn’t figure why she left her food at times.

Bill built a large dog house complete with shingles. In really bad weather (snow and cold) she was allowed in the side porch/patio and she knew she was well off. But she scamped through the snow and loved every minute.

In one word, Sam was a “LOVE” — and she was Bill’s dog. She traveled well in the car and we learned how to transport her to our river home. That was not an easy learning experience, but we at last learned. At the river, she was free and enjoyed every minute but always came home — for food and shelter.

Was she spoiled, you bet — and one of the family.

Unfortunately, Oct. 6, 1990 — Bill died. (He had a contacted Serum B Hepatitis from a patient in 1981. We bought nine years). On that morning, I sat on the steps and told her, she was now My Dog. She looked for her master but somehow she now realized that she and I were “kin”. The love that was there continued and a dear man named Harry entered our lives after nearly a year. Harry brought a love for animals so we were again a threesome and Sam adored him.

After many years, the desire to return to the mountains and escape the crime and drugs of a big city became a reality. As we visited the many sites for over a year and a half, Sam was included in our travel and she knew Zion Crossroads meant stretch, water, and chicken nuggets, from McDonalds.

We did move and Sam loved her new home, mountains, hills and rolling terrain.

As we were going so was Sam. She was established with the local Vet and found new friends with a puppy named Keaton. Keaton could outplay and race her new friend but when Sam quit, Keaton seemed to understand.

Harry became the home builder and made Sam a modern abode on our front porch. She handled the winter of ‘97 well. By the next summer, she was constant but slower. A stay at homer but knew when guests, friends, or the mail delivery came.

Then one day, Sam, age 14, really slowed down. I tried to move her for a vet’s visit but she growled and knowingly Harry said she was dying — leaving us to join her master. We allowed her her peace on the warm grass. Then a beautiful deep blue butterfly landed on her tail. Harry told me the end had come. The butterfly was the soul carrier. The butterfly stayed 29 minutes. Sam was gone. Amen and goodby.

Carol Bryson Heise © 2003