After losing Shasta, I was down to 9yo Isis and 16yo shih tzu Winston. By the end of the year, I'd lost Winston.
For the first time in many years, I now only had one dog. I couldn't tell that Isis was lonely -- and I made a point of taking her with me to lots of places -- but I was worried that the longer she was by herself, the more she might think of our house as a one-dog household, where others weren't allowed. So, I thought the sooner I brought in another dog, the better.
Despite all that had happened with Shasta, I hadn't sworn off beagles. I felt they were the perfect size, they shed minimally, and they got along with other dogs. Plus, the one I had wasn't needy, like the lap breeds tend to be. So, I contacted the highly organized Colorado Beagle Rescue, but also other rescues, as I was open to any dog that seemed appropriate. I actually would have preferred a small scruffy terrier type of dog, but I needed one large enough to play with Isis.
The CBR first wanted me to adopt a young dog recovering from a broken leg, but after what I'd gone through with Shasta's epilepsy, I was firm that I didn't want a dog with medical issues right off the bat, even with them paying for subsequent treatment. Then they found a pitiful looking female beagle in Missouri, but before she was put on the van to Colorado, she was adopted out. Then they told me about Sammie in Wyoming.
Sammie was a supposed 4yo that had been dropped off at the pound, because his owner had cancer and could no longer care for him. A lady with a rescue group took him from the pound. Then her husband up and died, and she put out an SOS for other rescues and foster homes to please take her dogs off her hands, while she dealt with her husband's death. Sammie was fostered by a woman who trained tracking dogs. He was adopted out to a single lady who had a fulltime job and had never owned a dog before. She returned him after two weeks, and her email was shared with me. She kept him in a crate all day, and he hated it so much that he tore out of it, using his teeth. Then she tried keeping him in the garage, and the neighbors complained about his non-stop howling. Then she tried letting Sammie loose in the house. That first day, she came home at noon and everything was fine. Then when she came home after work, Sammie had torn all the plastic blind flaps off the sliding glass door. Otherwise, he was great on walks, housebroken, and would lie quietly against her on the sofa.
I thought that Sammie sounded like a nut case, but it was obvious that he needed someone who was home most of the time, and that was me. And surely Isis would keep him entertained. So, I agreed to drive to Cheyenne, where his current caretaker would bring him. When we met, he reminded me of Shasta in that he was thoroughly indifferent to me. The lady told me that I could return him to her, if he didn't work out, because he had all the signs of being a great tracking dog. I didn't expect that to happen.
As with Shasta, my biggest concern was introducing Sammie to Isis, as Isis continued to show aggression toward strange dogs, whenever she got near others on walks. Therefore, I asked my friend Lindsay to be on hand when I arrived home. We had them meet on the driveway of the vacant house next door, and other than sniffing Sammie a great deal, while I petted Sammie and talked enthusiastically about him, Isis didn't show any aggression. Then Lindsay and I walked both dogs around the block and they were fine. We then brought them into the backyard, and after more rounds of sniffing, they began to play. And play. And play. And play.
To spare the doggy door the constant in and out, I opened the sliding glass door. At one point, both dogs charged into the house at such a fast run, past the kitchen where Lindsay and I were talking, into the living room, and leaping onto the huge easy chair with such force that it fell over backwards. Apparently, Isis was lonelier than I had realized, and was ecstatic at having a new companion. After Lindsay left, I emailed the CBR, which knew of my concerns about Isis, and let them know that I had two exhausted dogs at my feet, as they were panting heavily from having literally played for hours. They responded happily, while also reiterating that the tracking lady in Wyoming would be happy to take Sammie back. (It almost sounded like she'd regretted letting him go.)
When looking at the paperwork I'd been given, it showed Sammie's birthdate as "04", which suggested he was born in 2004, which made him 6yo rather than 4yo when I adopted him in 2010. I used the 2004 birthdate, but since he's still plenty energetic in 2018, while having an aging white face, I've never been sure.
There were various signs in the ensuing weeks that Sammie had lived on a farm. Therefore, the idea of someone trying to keep him in a crate was outright cruel. I suspect his prior owner had worked on old cars, because Sammie got really interested (and sometimes whimpering) when he was in the car, and we stopped at a light next to an old car. Once, while walking, we came up an old Volvo parked at the curb, and his put his paws on the front grill, wagging his tail, as though it reminded him of something.
Sammie was similar to Shasta in that he had no interest in learning human vocabulary. Whenever I'd say anything out loud when both dogs were in the room, he'd turn his head to look at Isis, like, "What is she saying? Do we need to do anything?" For that matter, while he didn't worship Isis the way Shasta did, he was always way more interested in what she was doing than what I was doing.
The worst thing about him was the screeching high notes he could reach with his baying. Shasta had been loud, but she wasn't even in the ballpark of Sammie. Worse, Sammie went berserk when we were in the car, and he saw dogs being walked on the sidewalk, or otherwise out and about. He'd throw himself at the windows (so I had to keep him leashed) and screech at the top of his lungs. He was like that on walks, too. Seeing another dog was a reason to pull frantically on the leash and spin around, with his screeching bay, wanting to meet them. If there's a dog being walked up the sidewalk, he'll run from one side of the yard to the other, baying at the top of his lungs. Neighbors have called the cops called on him three different times for making too much noise. There's been times when I've thought it's a good thing I don't have a gun, because when I'm trying to work or write, and he's baying at an ear-splitting decibel, I've been tempted to shoot him myself.
The great thing Sammie did, that Shasta would never do, was snuggle next to me on the sofa, when he was in the mood. Though Isis was the most important member of the pack, he seemed to think I was worthy of affection every now and then.
As Isis got older, Sammie had to work harder at getting her to play, but he was always successful. I credit him with having a lot to do with her still being a happy, healthy dog at 15yo. Still, knowing Isis was surely down to her final months, I adopted a white Bichon Frise mix, Coconut. She was leery of the relatively huge Isis, but would play with Sammie. When they'd tug on a toy together, Sammie was very considerate of her smaller size, being careful not to tug too hard. In essence, he always let her win.
Once Isis was gone in January of 2016, Sammie didn't show signs of missing her. While he got along with Coconut fine, I was now the center of his attention. There's a lot more snuggling on the sofa. When I say we're going for a walk, he'll sometimes leap at me in excitement. He runs to the garage door when I say we're going to the car.
I adopted another small dog in 2016. When the rescue lady brought Fergie to my house, and she was getting used to Sammie and Coconut, I mentioned that I'd owned two beagles, and I'd describe the beagle personality as being similar to a cat. She took the opportunity to mention that she had a friend with a pack of beagles, and she didn't care for their indifference much. Then, later, when we went inside and sat in the living room, Sammie threw himself next to me, snuggling close. That woman's mouth literally dropped open. In awe, she said, "I've never seen a beagle do that before."
It's gradually dawned on me that the day I lose Sammie is going to be a sad one. He's my buddy. Despite the challenges I've had with him, he's actually been the most loving dog I've ever had. Some of my dogs were ones where their lives revolved around me, but that was due at least as much to neediness as outright affection. Sammie doesn't need to be affectionate. He's thoroughly independent and has no problem being off by himself for hours at a time. He gives his affection because he wants to.
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