His name is Sammy, but Aunty Kamala calls him Samosa. My Russian student cuddles him and calls him Samka, an affectionate term that means “Little Sam.” Sammy, an American Eskimo dog, has been gifted with a white coat, soft as silk, smoky eyes outlined in black look as if an expert make-up artist applied black eyeliner. His tail curls up like the typical Nordic dog tail designed to curl around the body and face to retain warmth.
On sunny and breezy day, while I relax on the backyard, my child dashes over to me. He springs up, slapping his front paws on the arm of my lawn chair and then jumps back down. Ever so gracefully, he does a pirouette; and his backside hits the yellow tie that holds up the badminton net causing the net to sag in the middle. His antics are the greatest fun of our lives and we simply smile all the way. His nose catches a whiff of some scent on the wings of a warm, gusty breeze and he lifts his nose in the air, closes his eyes, intoxicated with life. That pretty much sums up all pooches, I think. They engage in each activity completely. It’s meditative to observe such focus. For me, it’s like taking a mini-vacation. It’s an endless list of fun and frolic, as when we sit outside on glorious summer’s day, Sammy’s ear twitch up and down like cottony-white butterflies. The apple tree provides welcome shade for my Eskimo friend.
Two and half seconds was the time it took Sammy to win my heart with a peck on the cheek. It just takes two and half seconds for him to follow us to bed at night. And it is the same amount of time it takes for me to offer thanks that he is a part of our family.