1) The author wakes up to find that his dog Sam, who he had for over 13 years, is not barking which was unusual for her. 2) He recalls adopting Sam from an animal shelter for $5 and how she became a beloved member of the family, playing happily with his kids. 3) In recent months, Sam had lost weight due to a diet for kidney problems but then stopped eating. When she collapsed and couldn't walk, the vet determined she had an internally bleeding tumor and the humane choice was to euthanize her, which the author did with sadness in his backyard.

1. I Miss the Noise Already
Jim McPartland
An excerpt from “Mad Rumblings”
I knew when I woke up this morning, it’d be lousy. Normally at 4:00 a.m. the first thing I do is let the
dogs out for their bathroom break. No matter how many times I ask them to not bark at the varmints
that cascade through the woods around my house, their canine instincts tell them to do otherwise.
Many a morning my wife has berated me for ‘waking up the neighbors,’ although they’ve never
complained.
The deer played joyfully this morning as there was no barking. My little Chihuahua mix Bucky was quiet.
And Sam—?
I haven’t heard her bark in three days.
She’s never done that since I got her.
Thirteen years ago we were living in a two bedroom/one bath condo in Bridgeport. I’d saved enough
money through stock options that we could go house shopping that fall and buy something nicer. My
boys were ages 5 and 3 at the time. I hadn’t had a dog since the early 80s and I was itching (sans fleas)
to get one. I decided, without spousal input (she’d frown on anything that was perceived to be more
work for her) to go to the Bridgeport Animal Shelter and save a life.
When I entered, I explained what I needed: friendly, good with little kids. Without hesitation, they
brought me to a Sheppard-Collie mix that had been abandoned on exit 27 of I-95. She was 37.5 lbs. I
know this because I still have the $5.00 receipt.
I looked at her and said “Done.”
The boys were thrilled when they got home from school. We tried to give her a bath. She wasn’t as
excited.
After toying with names for a day or two, it so happened that Elizabeth Montgomery from the TV sitcom
Bewitched had just died. As our furry new friend would tilt her head and raise her ears whenever you
said something she didn’t quite get—much like E.M. when Darren would ask her why she did something
silly, only to have her respond, “Well?”—I settled on Samantha, for Samantha Stevens.
Sam had energy as a puppy. Her papers said she was around nine months old, so I figured her birthday
was somewhere around mid-September.

2. Each morning I jogged/walked her a couple miles—couldn’t afford a gym membership at the time. I
remember singing Aimee Mann’s Sugarcoated that played on my walkman at 5:00 a.m. most days. I also
recall one morning when a couple kids said, “That dog is SO cool,” as we walked by. Sam was a happy
camper.
That November we bought our new house based on an empty lot and set of plans. I have a video I took
the following spring when we visited the nearly-finished house and Sam decided to jump out a window
that was 15 feet off the ground. Like a cat, she landed on her feet and just kept running. Never missed a
step.
We moved in when the house was finished that May. Other vids we have show her speeding around the
yard like Speed Racer with the kids. I never needed an electric fence because Sam was smart enough to
not wander far.
Sam had a penchant for belching. I thought about going on Letterman’s Stupid Pet Tricks. She’d do it
anytime and be so loud that people would get startled. I’d tell them that it was a heavy night of Bass ale.
She barked at strangers, UPS drivers and the mailman. Never threatened to bite anyone, though. More
like, “You’re on my turf. What cha want?”
She gained some weight the past few years and people used to say she was fat. Funny thing was, THEY
were fat too. I almost would say stuff like, “Far be it for you to throw stones,” but saying that to a
woman may have, in fact, caused a rock to come hurdling.
Sam.
Around four months ago I put her on a strict diet as the vet had warned of kidney problems. She lost
some weight, was looking good and acting well.
But a few days ago I noticed she wasn’t eating—she was even turning her head at table food, which
historically sent her into a ravenous Night of the Living Dead corpse fest. I called the vet Thursday and
made an appointment.

3. Friday morning I get up and she slowly huffs toward the back door to go out. She fell down my back
steps. I sat with her for a few minutes and knew it was going to be a long day.
She eventually made it to the bushes. I sat with her in the shrubs for three hours; I thought she was
going to stop breathing. She came out to lie on the grass but couldn’t do much more than that. I spent
the whole day just lying next to her. I called the Vet again, saying that if it ‘was time’ I’d much rather do
it at my house than a sterile office. He said, “You never know. I may be able to fix her, at least for a few
days.” I knew it would be futile to try to fix her.
My son and I managed to get her onto a small table, as it was hurting her to be picked up. With her
favorite blanket wrapped around her, taking her like an ambulance without its lights flashing because
there is no rush, we made the short journey. She was more awake now, seemingly better.
After waiting in the car for a half hour, Dave the Vet comes out. He takes a deep breath when he looks
at her. Feels her stomach (she winces).
“Without doing tests, I can tell you she’s got a tumor that’s internally bleeding. If you take her home,
she will die tonight or tomorrow.”
The last thing I needed, as much as I’d have liked her to take her last breath on my lawn where she’d
spent a lot of time, was to have one of my kids find her in the dining room.
The Vet said, “Take her in the back yard here. Spend time with her. I’ll come out in a few minutes and
give her a general anesthetic.”
With the leaves swirling around us in a cool breeze, I just laid with her. She seemed accepting of the
situation.
The shot took around five minutes to put her into a deep sleep, all the while with me whispering sweet
nothings in her ear. It’s weird but it’s been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to do that for
anyone.
Dave came back out and gave her the lethal shot, which killed her instantly.
She may have not suffered, but this morning I’m still feeling the effects and writing this only makes me
cry again.
They call female dogs ‘bitches.’ I’ve never understood that. Sam, unlike MANY women I’ve met or
known, was never a ‘bitch.’ She was ALWAYS happy to see me. Was the ultimate, Welcome home, Jim,
and never doubted me.
Money can’t buy love. Five dollars bought it for me. That’s a good investment for a little over 14 years.
My #2 Dog Bucky is 7 now. I do not look forward to going through this again and as much as I love dogs
am not rushing out to get another one anytime soon.