MAN IS A DOG'S BEST FRIEND

MAN IS A DOG’S BEST FRIEND.

He was scruffy, had a long black coat and the brownest eyes you ever saw. He seemed to be able to read my mind. He knew when it was time to play and when it was time to keep out of the way. Sam seemed to have endless energy. There were times at the beach when I thought he’d run all day.

Sometimes money would be tight all there’d be to eat was a few slices of bread. So we’d share it and he never complained.

Sam used to like a newspaper! He folded the pages this way and that. Tearing out the odd article! I used to wonder why sometimes he’d drool all over it. “Maybe it’s just something they like to do” I thought to myself. I once overheard someone saying “It’s a sign of him needing a mate.” There might have been some truth in it. Who knows?

We’d shared about six fun years together, Sam and I, before I noticed something was wrong. He had slowed down a lot, he didn’t enjoy the beach so much and one leg seemed to be struggling to keep up. His coat was well worn by now and had lost its shine. “Shame I can’t give him a new one” I thought. “It used to feel so nice.”

Then tragedy struck. It was like my worst nightmare. Impatiently waiting to cross the road, I made a dash for it at the first opportunity forgetting that poor old Sam was not as quick as he used to be. I felt the lead jerk tight. The blast of the horn, the squeal of tyres and that awful thud still haunt me today.

I stare at these bars for hours now. Nauseated by the howls and taunts from the other cells. Its terrifying being inside. If only I had a friend like Sam. He was good to me. Still, they come in everyday and release some of the inmates. I hope someone will still want an old dog like me.