The perils of freedom.
Sam, “Mayor” of this village – the handsome, red golden-doodle who roamed the streets of rural Bozman for years – was hit by a truck yesterday. Everyone knew him, everyone appreciated him (except, I suppose, those who may have had to deal with his uh, bathroom habits, free as he was, though I never minded picking up after him.) He was getting older, deaf. Didn’t hear the truck and probably ambled right into it. It happened on a sunny day.
He was a frequent visitor here (we gave him treats) and Zip’s pal. We’d see him on our walks, strolling down the middle of the street. He’d lope on over and join us for a while, yet his direction and ours were rarely aligned for long. We wondered more than a thousand times if he’d get hit by a car. And of course, eventually, he did.
Sam was the poster boy of freedom. Iconic. A living symbol, except, now – he’s not. But his memory certainly is.
His humans could have fenced him in, leashed him, tied him up. But ach… could they really do that to that particular dog? We did that for a long time with Jesse, our dear golden retriever who had some, but not much, freedom in her life. How she would have enjoyed the freedom Sam had!
It brings me back to the question of allowing space for everyone to choose to live one’s life in one’s own unique way. There are more ways of living in the world than we can understand. Who are we to judge?
There’s a piece of Bozman missing today. About a 90 pound hole, shaped like a shaggy ol’ tall red dog, trotting down the middle of the street. A freedom seeker, indeed a free being, doing his own thing.
Bravo to you and your freedom, Sam! You’ll be missed.