As you can see, I definitely have a way with the octogenarian crowd. That beast between me and the old coot wielding the cudgel? Well, that is Sam (dog, not archaeologist). He might look like he’s ready to protect me from the cudgel but in reality, I think that Grandroobly probably occupied a higher spot in the pack than I did.

The photoooo is a few years old and both Grandroobly and Sam have left the building. And so has The Engineer, who was Sam’s owner and [arguably] the alpha dog of the pack, at least from a dog’s eyes. I was pretty far down in the pack pecking order, although I did take care of Sam sometimes when The Engineer and Dogmomster left him and their beach urchins at the moominbeach with their grandparents and, uh, yer favo-rite blahgger.

Sam was a pretty darn smart dog. The Engineer and Dogmomster obtained him as a young puppy from some sort of animal rescue situation (that I’m not remembering) and I don’t think they know much about the first few months of his life. They think it was somewhat traumatic and I remember my bro’ once saying something about how he wasn’t gonna pay money for a dog psychologist. He said it in a derisive male chauvinist type way but anyone who knew my brother knew how much he loved that dog. Enough that later on he paid for a knee (hip?) replacement for his beloved dog. The love went both ways. I remember one day at the moominbeach when my brother was packing his car to leave for home. He was leaving Sam with me and Sam darn well knew it. He responded by hanging around the back end of the car the whole morning. “Ohhhh, a dog and his car….” my brother said, in mock sympathy.

Even though I wasn’t Sam’s favorite, I got along with him just fine. I even managed to get him to take his aspirin (or whatever it was) when he was in my care. Nothing like opening a big dog’s jaw, shoving a pill down it and holding it shut until [you think] he’s swallowed it. Actually it’s easier than holding a spirited 8-month-old baby with an ear infection on the kitchen counter and trying to schloop a gloppy pink dose of amoxicillin down her throat! But Sam still missed his owner. Most dogs like to take walks and *I* like to walk, so you would think that Sam would want to walk with meeeeee. Not. Not without his owner. He wouldn’t go anywhere with me. He would stay with Grandroobly at the moomincabin. Except. One day, I walked with all the beach urchins around the rocky peninsula at the end of the beach to Cedar Point. When we got back to the moominbeach, Mouse and Valdemort were still coming along on the rocks. They were having a good time doing whatever they were doing, taking their time, giggling and eating Wheat Thins, etc. Sam sat down on the beach. The rest of us headed back along the beach to the cabin. We knew that the girls were fine. They were about 10, fer kee-reist! Sam? No. He didn’t budge until his pack member Valdemort got back onto the solid ground of the moominbeach.

Sam lived a pretty long life for a big dog but one day, The Engineer realized that his good old dawg wasn’t necessarily going to last forever. His joints hurt and he was having trouble walking, et al. And, worse than that, I *think* that The Engineer knew that his number was going to come up too. All too soon. After years of fighting a devastating chronic illness, he was going to check out way too young. And so, he obtained Ernie as a “replacement” for Sam, figuring that Sam could train his own replacement. If you click on the photoooo of Sam with his “replacement” and check out Sam’s eye, you might guess that Sam had mixed feelings about this snuggly little interloper. I’m forgetting the timeline but Alfred the Fearless Eagle Bait followed Ernie and they are now quite the pair. But they would occupy a whole ‘nother blahg entry or five or six. Unlike Sam, they do walk the beach with me. If you are interested in a video of those two, here’s a link to an oldie. This was the *first* time Dogmomster went to China and I sprung them from the boarding place and took them to the moominbeach.

Okay, I dunno what kind of typos or frogs or whatever are in this loverly post but the GG is home and it’s late and he’s blowin’ ceegar smoke in the window and I am the Chief Book Cook and Bottle Washer and I better git crackin’.

G’night

KW

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