Sam's Sulks

By Joyce Stark

A cat, after being scolded, goes about its business. A dog slinks off into a corner and pretends to be doing a serious self-reappraisal.

~Robert Brault

Sam wasn't just a big black Labrador, he was absolutely huge. As I am only five feet tall, my husband, Eric, used to joke that Sam's legs were longer than mine. It was Sam that taught me a very important lesson about myself, even if he was probably concentrating more on his treats and his pride.

Eric and I had only been married for a couple of years when we got Sam as a puppy. I suppose like most people in the first few years of marriage, there are always adjustments to be made. Sam was huge, but gentle and such a character that it would be easy to think we learned our lessons from all his good points. It wasn't quite that way, but he certainly did show me that I had a bit of growing up to do. Until we got Sam, I never knew that dogs could have a sense of humor, but he actually used to play tricks on me.

We live on the coast and since our neighbors had to work weekends, we used to take their little boy, Gavin, down to the beach for the day. Sam had watched me dig holes for Gavin, and decided it was time to join in. I was so busy building a sandcastle for Gavin that I never saw, and Eric never enlightened me, that Sam was busy digging behind me. He dug a deep hole behind me so that when I sat back and put a hand out to steady myself, I tipped back into the hole. Everyone nearby on the beach had been watching, and the sight of my short legs waving in the air brought the beach to a standstill. Sam took off and ran huge rings round me to make sure he wasn't in trouble. Laughing at his tricks on me was never a problem. I thought it was funny too.

Sam, however, could not stand to be laughed at and would go into very serious "sulks" when that happened. One very cold winter, we were taking him out for a walk and didn't realize our front door path was completely iced over. Sam bounded outside as usual, but the next minute his long legs were flying all over the place as he tried to stay upright. Almost in "Bambi" style he slid down the path on his side and bumped into our hedge. None of this happened with any great impact, it was almost done in slow motion, so we knew he wasn't hurt, and it was so comical, we both burst out laughing. Sam's pride was hurt and when we got back home he went into his "sulk" corner and only came out to eat and for walks for two days.

Even worse was the incident with a pop group called Boney M who were popular in the United Kingdom at that time. Sam was already beginning to recognize certain words and "bone" was one of them. He was lying in the living room, stretched out under a small coffee table, while we were watching a pop programme on television. When the DJ said something about the next record being "A big hit for BONEY M," Sam's shot upright, banging his head underneath the little coffee table. It wasn't a serious "bang" and so we both laughed. That sulk lasted three days.

In bed that night, I said to Eric, "It surprises me that a dog as intelligent and as good-natured as Sam takes our laughing at him so seriously. You would think he would know how much we love him."

There was a slight pause before Eric said quietly, "People can be like that too. Some people can't take criticism, even though it's given out of love too."

I laughed and pretended not to know that he was subtly trying to tell me, since that was my failing. When we were first married, it was always okay for me to criticise Eric and he would just shrug. The first time he said that something I cooked had no taste, I did a "Sam" for two days. And once when I tried to open a wine bottle with his fancy bottle opener, only to find it was a screw top, he thought it was hilarious. Eric laughed for ages and I sulked for days.

I lay in bed making the comparison and realized that although I took exception to criticism from Eric less than before, that was because he didn't give it so much. I realized too that he probably secretly laughed at my big mistakes, rather than annoy me. Eric liked to keep the peace but I knew he really shouldn't have to do that.

I thought about Sam and all the ways he was so brilliant. His sulking was his only fault. Sam, however, was a dog, whereas I was supposed to know better. I vowed that night to not only accept criticism, but openly invite Eric to make it every now and again. At first he was wary of that, coming from me, and offered it warily and ready for fireworks. As he saw his subtle comment had worked, we talked about it openly and I explained that I had learned my lesson not only from his comment, but really from Sam.

"I'm not sure that Sam's sulks are entirely about hurt pride. He is a very crafty dog," Eric said.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Well, I think they might have started out that way, but whenever he sulks, both you and I fuss over him. He gets lots of attention and you give him something special to eat to bring him out of his mood."

I smiled at Sam as he lay on the rug and asked him, "Are you really that smart?"

His huge innocent brown eyes looked up at me. He raised one ear and I could almost hear him say, "Who me? I'm just a dog!"

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