林恩·阿爾科克 /Lynn Alcock
Samantha was really my husband Jack's dog, or more accurately, he was her human. I was the one who fed her, walked her and took care of her, but as far as Samantha was concerned, the sun rose and set on Jack. She adored him. The feeling was mutual; when she gave him that soft beagle “googly-eyed look”, he melted.
We lived in a place called Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories, three hundred miles from the Arctic Circle.Jack was in the army and away a lot. I managed on my own and was thankful for good friends, an enjoyable working environment and, especially, Samantha to keep me warm at night. She would crawl under the blankets and curl around my feet-what bliss.
It had been a long arctic winter and Samantha had waited patiently for the sunshine and warm weather to come and was raring to get out and about. A typical hound, she loved running, chasing rabbits and squirrels, and swimming in the lake. When the f irst warm day of spring f inally arrived that year and we went out for a walk, in her exuberance, Samantha overdid it-running at top speed over the rocks that are the landscape in Yellowknife. By the time we reached the house, she was limping quite pronouncedly and appeared to be in signif icant pain. Her injury was diagnosed as sprained ligaments, and she was ordered to keep still: no running for several weeks. It was not welcome news for this beagle. Now she was conf ined to the porch while I was away at work, and then took short, quiet walks on a leash when I was home. As the weeks passed, her limp slowly but surely diminished; I was pleased with her progress.
During that period, Jack was away from Monday to Friday. On his return Friday evenings, there were hugs and kisses all around, and Samantha would be plastered to his lap. She followed him everywhere all weekend, lapping up the attention she received because of her “hurtie.” It was clear to me that her limp became even more pronounced when Jack was at home.