Friday, May 23, 2008 | by nathan

Sam Fridays: Sam Has A Bad Week

No photos today; just a story.

Sam’s been doing really well, and so on Monday I thought I’d let him wander around the house on his own while Brian and I were at work. He did fine; no destruction, no terror, just fine.

That night he started whining when we shut him up in his room, and it took me forever to get to sleep. I had to go tell him to be quiet five or six times before I finally nodded off, but he started up again at 12:30, waking me from much-needed slumber. I listened to him whine, I told him to shut up, and then as I listened to him I realized he was pacing. It almost sounded like someone doing the pee-pee dance.

So, I got up and let him out, hoping this wouldn’t become a pattern. He immediately went out and did his business, then came back in and was quiet long enough for me to get to sleep. Except I couldn’t sleep; here it was 1:30 by this time and it was hot in the bedroom and damn it all if I was WIDE AWAKE. So I went downstairs, turned on a light and finished reading the book I’d been working on.

At about 4 I went back up to bed and got back to sleep for a few minutes when Sam started whining again. This time I figured I’d created a monster, that he’d figured out that if he whines in the middle of the night that he gets to go outside. I went down and told him to SHUT.THE.FUCK.UP and went back to bed.

The next morning I opened his door to let him out and was greeted with a foul, sweet odor, like something from Jonestown. Sam had puked on the floor.

"Aw, shit, Sam," I said. "I’m sorry." I let him out and cleaned up the pool of sick, which had left a massive stain on the hardwood floor. I went out to check on him, and he seemed fine; he wanted to play with his toy and was running around like nothing was wrong. I felt awful for ignoring his cries for help, and I decided we’d never let him roam the house on his own again, as he’d clearly gotten into - something. I never did figure out what. He slept fine the rest of the week, not whining once when we put him in his room for bedtime.

Then.

Last night Brian and I were watching the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy (ha ha, shut up). Sam was lying on the floor next to the sofa and then got up and began to pace back and forth, occasionally putting his head in our laps. This usually means he needs to go out.

Brian got up to let Sam out and then came back inside, opting to let Sam run around for awhile in the backyard. This makes me nervous, but I said nothing about it, because I didn’t want to be that guy. After 10 minutes or so I got up to let Sam back in.

When I turned on the light on the back porch, the first thing I heard was something rattling - one of my pots on the stone pathway around the yard. Sam came running from that direction.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. He didn’t look up at me.

I ran over to the pots. Even in the dark I could see all was not well; Sam had turned 3 of them over and almost completely emptied the dirt out of one.

Then, I lost my mind. I ran back inside where Sam was cowering, hiding from me; he knew he’d done something wrong. Something snapped inside me; I lost my temper and screamed at him as loud and powerfully as I knew how: "BAD DOG!"

I took one deep breath while Sam tried to run away from me. He got stuck in between some of the patio furniture and trapped, and I caught him. I spanked him twice, and he cried out. I felt like a monster, my rage and disappointment and discouragement welling up in me. I took a step back from him and then ushered him into the house. He ran into his room and curled up in a ball on the sofa.

Brian, hearing the commotion, asked me what was wrong. I was seeing dots by this time, gritting my teeth so tightly together that I was barely able to see. I felt awful that I’d lost my temper, even though I hadn’t spanked Sam very hard. I was blinded - almost literally - by rage.

It’s just so damn discouraging when something that you love as much as I love Sam destroys something you’ve worked really, really hard on. Just that same day I’d had a problem with birds pulling up 10 of my container plants - just pulled them right up out of their pots and then set them back down, dead, as if to mock me. I was already frustrated with the garden and with myself, and to have Sam throw his brand of chaos into that mix created the perfect storm.

I sulked on the couch for awhile, then instructed Brian that on no terms are we to leave Sam in the backyard alone with the plants. He’s dug them up now one too many times, I said, and he can’t be trusted. We can’t just leave him out there to go - we watch, we wait, and we let him back in. I hate to do that; Sam likes the backyard and is usually well-behaved. But I’ve worked too hard on that garden to let him ruin it.

We finished watching Grey’s and I started to feel better. I got up, went in Sam’s room and called him to me. He came, and I sat on the couch with him for awhile, petting him. He lay his head on my lap and licked my hands every time I stopped. Brian came in to check on me; I was feeling discouraged, less by the loss of my plants than by my own awful behavior. I absolutely can not imagine what it’s like to be a parent.

Sam finally forgave me and returned to his jovial self. I went upstairs and lay awake after turning off the light, praying for the grace to forgive myself for being such a horrible steward for Sam, this gentle - and slightly stupid - creature I’ve been given to take care of. It’s amazing that the things you love the most somehow seem to magically acquire the ability to push your worst buttons.