After that, we decided not to put her through any more surgeries, but just enjoy this canine blessing for as long as possible. Our vet wrote a prescription for more Prednisone - only at a much higher dosage, and promised to refill it as often as needed while Sam was with us. Thank you Dr. Tomlinson, doing that bought us several more months with our precious puppy!

When I got home from work one night in late August, Darlene told me that Sam had started throwing up about 15 minutes before. Over the next few hours, Samantha threw up many more times - I stopped counting after the eleventh one. I didn't know it was possible for a dog to vomit so often in such a relatively short span of time. Sam was a very sick dog that night!

The next day I called the vet's office to arrange to have Sam put down; after hanging up the phone I started getting ready for work. As I was brushing my teeth, I was thinking about how miserable Sam was the night before and how helpless I felt not being able to make her feel better. That, combined with the reality of the appointment I'd just made was overwhelming, and I began to sob. Almost immediately the thought came to my mind that "You mourn for a dog that's about to die, but what about your co-workers, the guy who pumps your gas or the cashier at the grocery store? Most of them are already dead spiritually. So where are the tears for them?" Even then Sam was a blessing to me. God used her to show me that my dealings with others needed attention.

Sam was feeling better well before the appointment I'd made, and our very optimistic vet said that maybe she just contracted a 24 hour bug, so we decided not to have her euthanized at that time.

It was déjà vu nearly three weeks later, though, when in less than 90 minutes, Sam went from begging for some of the food Darlene was cooking (very normal routine) to hiding out in the basement, throwing up and losing control of her bowels. When I found her lying in front of the clothes washer, she was pushing both of her sides so hard just to breathe that she reminded me of a blacksmith's bellows.

My heart sank because it was extremely obvious that she needed to be put down. Even when she tried thumping her tail against the floor when she saw me come around the corner of the basement, it wasn't enough to undo my knotted stomach. I called the nearest 24 hour animal hospital to ask them to prepare to put Sam down as soon as we could get her there.

Getting her out of the basement wasn't easy. Fortunately, earlier in the year we had purchased four body bags that have nylon loops riveted along both sides to allow sliding poles through to assist in carrying - like a litter. We had bought the body bags specifically because of my concern of this very situation of attempting to transport a 107 pound animal. Even though it was still a struggle for Darlene and me to get her outside, it probably would have been impossible without the assistance of that body bag "litter".

Once we were able to get Samantha in the back of the cargo van, we hurried to the animal hospital. It's less than ten miles from home, but it seemed to take forever to get there. Just before we arrived, we heard a rather odd sound come from where Sam was in the cargo area.

I asked Darlene, "What was that noise?"

"I think she just threw up again."

"What, has she been eating gravel?"

To me, it sounded like someone took a handful of pebbles and threw them across the floor of the van.

It was either at that moment or soon after that Sam died. When they rushed the gurney out to put her on, she was already gone. The hospital staff carefully laid Sam's lifeless body on a table in an unused exam room and said we could spend as much time as we needed saying our goodbyes. Sure, there were tears. Tears that attempted to wash away the ache of knowing that Sam wouldn't be coming home with us ever again. Yet it's also true that when I rubbed Sam's side and patted her head for the last time, there was still the gratitude that had sprung up so many years before when we first got this one-of-a-kind dog. The gift was indeed very wonderful, but the gift-giver is much greater and it was with sincerity that I again thanked God for this wonderful gift He'd given us.

Still, there are adjustments to losing a much loved pet of almost nine years. We have to remember to lock our doors now when we leave the house. That's something we didn't have to do for all the time we had Sam. She provided more security than any dead bolt could since her low, throaty growl could be very intimidating; just ask the man who came to do a home inspection for our township when we were thinking of selling. Sam was barely out of puppyhood when that happened and she didn't hesitate to let the home inspector know that she knew he was there and she wasn't too happy about it. This big, burly guy froze like a statue when he heard Sam's "rumbling thunder". Didn't even turn his head, he just looked at me from the corner of his eye and asked with a slight quiver, "What was THAT?"

We miss that long-furred baseball bat of a tail thumping against the floor when we mentioned her name or when I would sing some of my silly songs about her.

Three-legged dogs make a distinctive sound when they go up and down steps, or just hopping down the hallway to get to the water dish. We miss that, too.

Most of all, we miss needing to use both arms to hug a big, warm and furry pup that shared our lives for almost nine years.

Sam's black granite pet memorial stone. She truly was our wonderful gift from God and it was important to us to have that written in stone to make a permanent declaration of that truth.

I don't know if we'll ever see Samantha again. The Bible isn't clear about what happens to our beloved pets when they die. But I am certain of this, because God promises it in His Word: