New Dog
by Keller Agre
The dog looked as good as any on the adoption website. My girlfriend, Ashley, showed me his picture and before I knew it, we were on our way to see him. One look with those big beagle eyes and he was ours. The fosters were more than happy to see him go. We named him “Samson.”
Once we got him home, we had a tough time adjusting to each other. First off, he seemed to be nocturnal. But a few magic pills from the vet and he was out. He always slept right by the door, like he was waiting for his last owner to snatch him up when he was ready. We didn’t know much about who had him before us, just that he had gone to jail. He had taken pretty good care of Samson, though. No trauma to speak of.
Some men he didn’t like. My buddy Trav stopped over one day, and Samson wouldn’t stop growling at him. As soon as Trav got the hacksaw he came to borrow, he was on his way.
Samson had other odd habits too. If we left any jewelry within reach, he’d bring it to us. He’d drop Ashley’s necklaces at her feet, and I’d have to wipe the slobber off my watches before I put them on.
Walking him was a nightmare. Being a scent hound and all, he’d catch a whiff of something, and his tail would set to wagging, and he’d refuse to come along. I’d have to pick him up and carry him away.
There’s a graveyard near us and I made the mistake of bringing him there once. I’ve never seen a dog so jittery. The first grave we came to he started digging his heart out. I yanked him away before he got too far, but I don’t doubt he could’ve kept digging until he scratched up the coffin buried under all that dirt.
One day I took him to a dog park. Seems the poor guy was never socialized because he ignored just about every dog that came up to him. Just kept on sniffing. After a while, he started digging in the far corner of the park. I figured I’d let him just this once to get it out of his system.
After a half hour, he was covered in dirt. Samson finished his dig and came over to me faster than I’d ever seen him run. He wanted me to show me what he’d found. I’m glad no one followed me because lying in that hole was something I won’t soon forget.
A decomposing dog. The skull was the only bone the worms had gotten down to.
I covered my nose and Samson just sat there, wagging his tail like he was a good boy. I filled in the hole, and we left. I kept my eye on him after that.
*
Today we’re at Trav’s house. I wish it was a happier occasion. Funerals are never easy. It’s more of a memorial, really. His poor wife, Rachel went missing and the police did the best they could. All of us did. Even Samson. We tried giving him Rachel’s scent, but he never caught any trail. The search was over within a few days.
I don’t know why I brought Samson. I thought maybe he could cheer some people up. He was well enough behaved, except his tail won’t stop wagging.
*
A few hours have gone by and now it’s just me, Trav, and Ashley, talking about anything but Rachel. Samson hasn’t given his tail any rest since we got there. Now that everyone’s gone, I let him have free roam of the backyard. He’s in the corner now, digging. I should stop him before he tears up too much of the yard.
The Molotov Cocktail 