I’ve decided that on days when I don’t really have anything exciting to report, I will recycle and post a Samson Story from years past. He was a rascal and gave us LOTS of material. I didn’t have a blog then (or even Facebook – gasp!) so therefore no real way to share these little gems. I actually wrote them all down in a journal, thinking I might publish a book someday (thanks John Grogan for the idea!).
We got Samson when he was 4 months old and were the 5th house he lived in (not counting the breeder). He was a handful and more work than most folks were ready for. So naturally by the time he got to us, he had absolutely no trust for humans whatsoever and wouldn’t even look us in the eye until we’d had him for close to a year.
Because of that, little Samson was all about getting away. I think he did it as a protective mechanism, kind of like people who break up with their boy/girlfriend because they don’t want to be the one getting dumped. We could never let him out without a leash and trust that he would stay by us. Those people you see who walk their dogs without any type of restraint? Ha! That’s a pipe dream for us!
We live on a corner lot and have a pretty good-sized backyard with 3 gates: 2 on one side and 1 on the other. Of the 2 on the north side, one is a double gate because the previous owner had a boat or motor home or something. Well, one day I was in the kitchen and Samson was outside. I looked out the window and saw him trying to squeeze himself through the opening between the 2 gates! I sort of laughed because at that time he was about 60 lbs and I figured there was no way he could get through there,but it was fun to watch him try.
Then all of a sudden he got his head through the opening and was working on getting his shoulders through. I knew if he did that, he’d be gone. I yelled out, “Samson, no!” which produced the following effect: nothing. His way of dealing with me back then was to ignore me. I opened the door and ran outside. As I was running to the gate (which of course was at the farthest point of the yard from the door), he got his shoulders through and was shimmy-ing the rest of the way out. I got there just in time, stuck my arm through the opening and grabbed his collar .
Let’s pause a moment while I paint a picture for you. Here is the scene:
Samson is on one side of the fence, I am squatted down on the other with my arm stuck through the gate opening. The only thing connecting us and therefore keeping him from running away was the fact that I had a death grip on his collar, which he was now trying to wriggle out of. Oh and did I mention that the gate was locked and I didn’t have my keys on me? Yeah….so now, how to get this big dog back in the yard?
Obviously I couldn’t open the gate. He was too heavy to lift over. I couldn’t walk around because I would have to let go of him to do that. So naturally I thought, well, I’ll bring him in the same way he got out: through the opening in the middle. Well wouldn’t you know it, he was suddenly too big to get his head through. I pulled and twisted and turned and no matter how I tried it, he was not coming back through.
I had no phone on me and there were no neighbors outside. I was just about to start shouting for help when CJ popped his head out the back door. He saw right away the predicament I was in and came running down. He grabbed Samson, bringing him back inside. Within an hour we had put chains on the gate securing the opening and taking away any opportunity for him to try that again (and believe me, he tried again).
He has gotten out on a couple other occasions when gates were accidentally left open (3 times to be exact and all when he was older
and calmer). All 3 times we were able to get him back easily. The first time, he went to the park and was on his way back home when I found him. The second time he went up the circle and was sniffing about. The third time, he went up the circle and through someone’s yard which led to the park. A couple of college kids found him and brought him to their house and then called us. They put a make shift leash on him and kept him in the garage where they were watching a Husker game. When I saw him, he was laying next to one of the guys begging for chips. Big goofball.
So there you have it. A few “tails” of how Samson has tried his darndest to escape our horrible home. Can’t say I blame him. Would you want to live in a house where you got yummy food and treats all the time, a special bone birthday cake, frequent trips to the park, day camp, your own bed and lots of snuggles? I know, he’s so abused.