7:00 in the morning, my alarm goes off and I am greeted with a wet, sloppy kiss from my black Labrador Samson. This is routine. Once Sammy hears the echoes of Coldplay’s Viva La Vida, he comes right to my bedside looking for me to arise from my foggy slumber.
I roll out of bed and stumble into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. I fumble through the medicine cabinet and find a hair tie, sweeping my messy chestnut hair into a bun on the back of my head. I tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ears and look in the mirror, evaluating my morning fogginess. Not terrible. Good enough to take Sammy for a walk. I put on a clean pair of sweatpants with BOSTON in white block letters down the side and pull a navy blue hoodie over my head.
“Ready to go outside?” I ask Sammy, moving into the living room. He wags his tail enthusiastically, knocking some stray papers from my latest story off the coffee table as he moves towards the door. I take the faded purple leash off the coat hook and attach it to his matching collar before opening the door. His usual peppy walking pace has slowed after years of leaping and bounding to the park, and we walk slowly down the stairs, letting his arthritis-baring legs take it one step at a time.
The air outside is cold and crisp; it tickles my throat as I breathe in deeply, the scent of gasoline and dirt filling my nostrils. Early morning traffic is beginning to pick up. I cross the street and walk into Forest River Park. Sammy sniffs the ground eagerly as I urge him to cross the street with me, picking up the pace enough to make the light.
I brought my parents with me, the day I picked Sammy out at the kennel. As a child, my family had a Lab-Shepherd-Husky mix with one blue eye and one brown eye. I loved that dog. When we went to the shelter, I had my heart set on a lab mix.
Walking into a kennel with several puppies in it, I was crowded by a beagle, a labradoodle, a poodle, and a golden labrador. They eagerly came up to me and the shelter worker. In the corner of the kennel, there was a black Labrador with his tongue hanging out, tail wagging furiously against the kennel fence. He was patiently waiting for his turn to say hello. I stepped away from the initial group of dogs, who all became preoccupied with the fresh water the worker was bringing into the kennel. The Labrador wagged his tail faster as he saw me approach.
“This is Samson,” the shelter worker stated. “He’s been here a year. We found him on the side of a highway...guessing he’s almost two years old. We have no idea where he came from. Most people want the younger puppies when they come to the shelter, so he hasn’t gotten much attention.”
I didn’t hesitate. The look in his eyes was enough.
“I’ll take him home,” I said.
He gained the nickname “Sammy” that day. It sounded more friendly.
Sammy and I walk along the gray cement park path to the oceanfront. The sun is shining, the reflection of a thousand diamonds gleaming off of the water. Soft waves dance along the sand. Leaves of red, orange, and yellow are littered across the beach from the park trees. “C’mon Sammy,” I urge, turning right to walk along the park path that overlooks the ocean.
We fall into step, Sammy at my side, walking deliberately, smelling all the new smellsof the park. Sometimes I wonder what he is thinking when we take the same path every day. He wobbles down the path, tongue hanging out gleefully as if it is just another ordinary day. We round the corner and start to climb to the highest point in the park, overlooking the beach and the green-and-yellow metal playground.
I had walked along that spot many times before. The first day he came home with me from the shelter, we took that walk. Sammy was so excited that it looked like a black Labrador was walking a rag doll. I held onto the leash and he went in the general direction that I wanted to go, until he got over-excited about a squirrel or a chipmunk. Rounding the corner to the highest point in the park, Sammy and I were at a jog. I was trying to untwist his leash when Sammy spotted a golden retriever puppy and bounded towards her.
“Woah there,” a low voice said, laughing. “Looks like somebody is taking his owner for a walk. What’s his name?” he asked.
“Samson,” I told him.
“Hi Samson,” he said in a voice an octave higher. He looked up at me and extended his hand towards me. His eyes were a dark brown-chestnut color. “I’m Trevor, by the way.”
“Annie.”
We shook hands, then he bent down to pat Samson’s head as Sammy and the golden retriever made friends. His hair was shiny black, curling at the ends and he wore a blue-and-black striped sweatshirt. When he stood up again he was noticeably taller than me.
He smiled at me and cleared his throat. “I had a black lab growing up. My sister named him Sparky. Great dog. We used to take turns bringing him for walks around my neighborhood.”
He kept looking down at the dogs while he talked.
“Who’s this?” I asked.
“Bella,” he stated. “I’ve had her for the two years I’ve lived in this neighborhood. She’s a great dog. Gets a bit excited sometimes.”
I glanced up nervously, wondering why he was still talking to me.
“I just got Samson yesterday at the shelter.”
“He looks big for a puppy.”
“They think he’s about a year old already. Everyone wants puppies when they go to the shelter but he was the nicest dog there.”
“You’d better train him so he doesn’t keep walking you here.”
Trevor laughed and the wrinkled corners of his eyes looked like snowflakes. Judging by his looks he was about twenty-six and in a similar situation to me. His grey sweatpants read TERRIERS down the side in red block letters. He reminded me of an old friend from grade school. He was a dog-owner. He seemed sweet. We stood in silence for a moment as Sammy looked up at us wondering why we weren’t still walking.
Trevor looked at the ground instinctively. “You live around here?” he asked.
“Just up the street,” I told him.
“It’s a pretty great neighborhood.” He seemed slightly nervous.
“Yeah,” I muttered, pulling Sammy closer to me. I bent down to pat Bella. “So maybe I’ll see you in the park again,” I said to her.
I stood up, about to leave.
“Wait,” Trevor started. “Wanna…Would you be interested in getting coffee sometime?”
I told him I’d love to get coffee. He put his number in my phone.
I texted him that afternoon. Two days later we met at Giacomo’s Coffee and Pastries. We hit it off pretty quickly. Or so it seemed. Trevor was working on a Doctorate degree in physics at BU and made it seem like he was always trying to fix something about me. We spent nearly two years together.
I walked through that relationship with an ice pick. I was better off alone, and I looked for every reason that I was a terrible girlfriend. Trevor didn’t care at first. He would make it seem like he was helping me get better at it. We didn’t argue as much at first, but once he tried to find out more intimate details about who I was, I would shut down. I would always run away from arguments, taking Sammy along. Sammy was a better listener. When I skipped lunch with his parents to bring Sammy to a dog park, he came back to my house screaming. I told him he was too much work: that I didn’t have the time or patience to devote to him like he wanted. “You’re too independent,” he told me as he walked out the door of my apartment that night.
Sammy tried to follow him outside. The door closed in his face and he turned around to join me on the couch. We sat, Sammy looking up at me to make sure I was okay. “It’s okay Sammy,” I cooed. “We don’t need him.”
I scratched his ears, absorbing the silence like a sauna, letting my pores open up and release into the comfort of being alone again.
Sammy and I stop at the overlook and see my neighbor Patty and her two kids playing in the yellow and green playground. Bobby and Lucy run up the steps of the play structure and hurl themselves down the twisty slide in some sort of race. Patty sits on a nearby bench and watches while she knits a blue speckled scarf. At least it looks like it is going to be a scarf. Mrs. Robinson from down the street walks with her poodle, Delilah who has a haircut that made her feet and head look too big for the rest of her body. We walk by a golden retriever with an unknown owner, playing Frisbee in the field. We continue along the park path, passing by the apple trees and the old oak that everyone carves their initials into. I sit down at the bench by the old oak, and Sammy sits down slowly, placing his head in my lap.
“It’s a beautiful day,” I whisper to Sammy. “You’ve lived a good life, haven’t you? Met plenty of other dogs. Chased plenty of squirrels. You look good for your old age.”
Sammy looks up at me with his big brown eyes. His silky black fur has turned white around his muzzle and neck, and his ears have lost some of their perkiness. I look up at my surroundings, choking back involuntary tears. Looking across the field, I notice the swampy area of the park and smile, remembering Sammy’s first encounter with the swamp.
On that day, Sammy saw a squirrel and dashed into the swamp, just fast enough for me to lose my grip on his leash. I spent five minutes beckoning him to come back. When he finally did, he had a big broken stick in his mouth and was covered in mud from head to toe. I took him back home, getting him up the stairs and into my apartment as quickly as possible. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and went back into the hallway to mop up the muddy paw prints before my neighbors saw them. When I got back inside, Sammy was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor looking a little too satisfied with himself.
“Sammy!” I laughed.
He wagged his tail fast.
“Sammy, look at what a mess you made! Trevor is coming over later! You already know he thinks I’m a mess, are you trying to help with that?” I giggled. I took his collar off and brought him into the bathroom.
The tub was on the small side for a dog like Sammy, but I turned the warm water on and made him sit. He was incredibly well behaved for the first few minutes. When I went to get the dog shampoo, things changed. As I lathered him in soap, he squirmed a little and stuck his tongue out. But when bubbles appeared, he started trying to play with them. He was like a bird in a bird bath. Except the bath was in my apartment. And he was a huge bird. And I had to clean up the mess.
After the bath, I grabbed the biggest towel I could find—a blue fluffy beach towel with Finding Nemo characters on it—and wrapped him up in the kitchen to dry him off a little.
“Now you know not to go in the mud,” I said in the squeaky-child voice I used when I talked to Sammy. “I can’t give you a bath like this every week! No I can’t. Who’s a good boy?”
Sammy calmed down, sitting still while I dried him off. “You know,” I told him, “I don’t think Trevor and I are going to work. We just don’t want the same things. But that’s okay, right buddy? Cuz I’ve got you.”
He wagged his tail and stared at me as if he knew exactly what I was saying.
I let him walk away, but he headed straight for the couch. “No,” I said firmly, “Stay.” He put his head down and walked in a circle on the floor before practically falling over on his side. His tongue hung out of the side of his mouth as he looked up at me, breathing heavily. That was the first of his monthly baths in my tiny bird-bath tub.
The crisp autumn air starts to warm up and I begin to sweat under my layers of clothing. Sammy and I walk out of the park, I press the button on the crosswalk and wait.
“Hey! Annie!”
I turn around, recognizing the voice of my neighbor, Melanie. She jogs towards me, wearing a blue jumpsuit with the Nike Logo plastered across the front. She is training for the Boston Marathon. “Hey, Melanie. How’s running?”
“It’s a good day for it!” she says cheerfully, jogging in place while her blue jumpsuit swishes with every movement. Her voice is peppy, like a high school cheerleader past her prime. We stand in heavy silence, waiting for the light to turn. Sammy sits down calmly, content with waiting for the light. Melanie looks down at Sammy and says in a rather optimistic tone, “How’s Sammy?”
“He’s not doing too great,” I murmur. “We’ve got an appointment with the vet this morning.” I choke up.
“Oh I’m sorry,” she responds, as if trying to think of something else to say.
I nod, and look across the street. The last time Melanie and I spoke was two weeks ago. I had just gotten home from the vet’s appointment that reaffirmed the fact that Sammy was old and dying. I let Sammy into the apartment and sat in the stairwell sobbing when Melanie walked into the building. She handed me a tissue and continued into her apartment with her boyfriend, noticeably laughing.
The walk sign flickers on.
“Well,” she starts, “Send my best to your family. I’ll see you around.”
“Bye,” I say mechanically, as she runs across the street. “C’mon Sammy,” I bark.
We walk across the street towards my apartment.
At the bottom of the stairs, Sammy puts one paw on the first step and looks up at me. I let a tear run down my cheek as I bend down to pick him up. Taking my time and holding on tight, I carry Sammy up the stairs and put him down at my door to unlock my apartment. Sammy immediately goes over to his water bowl, lapping at the water and spilling it over onto the kitchen floor.
I take my sweatshirt off and throw it on the back of the couch, and I sit down and take a deep breath. Sammy trots over slowly and puts his head on my knee, looking up as if to say, “I’m still here—don’t worry.” I scratch his ears and sigh, looking over at the clock. 7:45. Three more hours.
I take the same walk every morning. 7:00 AM. The Patriots leash, old and worn, stays on the rack. The autumn mornings are still cool, and they still smell like gasoline and dirt. I know my routine. “Viva La Vida” still greets me in the morning. I realize now that I had never really been comfortable alone. Every morning I had the greeting of a wet nose and the promise of a walking companion. Now, it’s just me. Now, I know what I need.
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