Sam

Sam

By Georges Martin Lagassé

I had a dream once. In it, I lay on the warm grass, the sun tickling my fur, and beside me, a small human giggled, his tiny hand resting gently on my back. There was laughter – mine, his, and the laughter of another human, a tall figure with a voice that made me feel safe. I dreamed of being loved and being safe. But that was a dream, and dreams don’t live in cages.

The cage was all I had ever known. Its bars were rusted, the metal cold against my skin. They had taken me away from my mother before her warmth could fully teach me what it meant to feel protected. She had tried to keep me close, her nose brushing my tiny head, whispering comfort. But they took me, and I remember her cries, echoes that still linger in the corners of my mind. After that, there was the stench of urine, the feces that matted my fur, and the ache of hunger that gnawed at me every day. The only thing worse than the hunger was the thirst – my mouth dry, my tongue scraping against my teeth with no relief in sight.

The puppy mill was a place of nightmares. It wasn't just the cages, though they were small, barely big enough for me to turn around in. It was the darkness that hung heavy in the air, the shadows that seemed to move, whispering secrets of despair. There were so many of us, crammed into cages, our bodies pressed against the cold metal. The air was thick with the stench of waste – urine and feces that were never cleaned, the smell so strong it burned my nose. Flies buzzed incessantly, their tiny bodies landing on our wounds, our eyes, our mouths. There was no escape from them, no escape from anything.

I remember the sounds. The barking, the crying, the whimpers of pain that never stopped. Day and night, it was a symphony of suffering. Dogs calling out for help, for comfort, for release. Some had given up, their voices gone silent, their eyes empty. Others still fought, still cried, still hoped. I was one of them. I cried for my mother, for the warmth I had lost, for the love I had never known. But no one came.

They called me names, those men. "Stupid," they said. They laughed when I yelped, their hands heavy on my back. Once, one of them – his breath reeking of something that made his words slur and his feet stumble – took a white cylindrical object that was burning at the tip out of his mouth. It smelled acrid, sharp, and the smoke that came out of it lingered in the air around us as he pressed it against my skin. Extreme pain shot through me, and I cried, a sound that bounced off the walls, swallowed by the chorus of other cries around me. The pain lingered for days, a red, angry wound on my back, but no one cared. The others whispered about him, called him "the monster." He would come at night, his footsteps echoing in the dark, his voice low and mean. We all feared him. He would open cages, pull dogs out, do things that made them scream. And when he was done, he would throw them back, broken, bleeding. We all knew the monster, and we all prayed he would pass us by.

There was something else, too – something that haunted the shadows of the puppy mill. It wasn't one of the humans. It wasn't even one of us. It was a presence, a dark and malevolent force that seemed to hover over the place, lingering like a storm cloud that never moved. I could feel it sometimes, an invisible weight pressing down on me, suffocating. The air would grow colder, and the stench would turn putrid, a rotting smell that filled my nostrils and made me want to shrink into myself.

Sometimes, it felt like it was inside my cage. I could never see it, but I knew it was there. My body would freeze, my legs refusing to move, my throat locking up so I couldn’t even whimper. There was only fear – raw, paralyzing fear. The other dogs must have felt it too, because the mill would go eerily quiet when the presence was near. No barking, no crying. Just silence, and the cold, and that awful, rotting stench.

The worst part was when it touched me. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it. Long, thin nails dragging slowly down my back, a cold pressure that made my skin crawl. I wanted to run, to cry out, but I was trapped – trapped in my cage, trapped in my own body, unable to do anything but feel. The nails would trail down my sides, and I would shiver, my eyes wide with terror. I knew it wasn’t a dream. The pain was real, the fear was real. It was no hallucination. My nose can’t lie even when the rest of me is numb.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. The air warmed, and I could move again, but the pain was still there, a burning line along my side. I lay in the darkness, my body trembling, tears filling my eyes. I didn’t understand why this was happening, why I was being hurt. I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to be safe.

But still, I dreamed.

The other dogs spoke sometimes, their voices drifting from cage to cage. They spoke of a world beyond these walls, a world where humans were kind, where they gave you food that didn’t make your stomach twist, where they touched you gently, spoke softly. There was a story – a story of a dog who was taken away, not like the others, but by someone kind. He was given a soft bed, food that filled his belly, and a small human to love. That story was what kept me alive.

Then, one day, everything changed. More humans came. They came from outside the compound. Their voices loud, their hands reaching into cages. It started with noise – loud noises, louder than the barks and cries that filled the mill. There were voices, shouting, and strange humans in uniforms. They moved quickly, their hands reaching into cages, pulling dogs out with some sort of metallic lasso. I shrank back, pressing myself against the bars. I was terrified. I didn’t know who they were or what they wanted. I thought maybe the dark presence had sent them – that they were here to hurt me even more. The door to my cage opened, and the metallic lasso reached for my neck. I fought. I snapped, fear driving me, but the hand didn’t stop. It grabbed me, pulled me out. The world blurred as I was carried away, my heart pounding, my body trembling. I didn’t understand. These humans were different, but they were still humans – and humans meant pain.

They took me to another cage. This one was different. It was warmer, the floor softer. They washed me, and the water was warm. It felt good, but I didn’t trust it. They gave me food, food that didn’t smell rotten, and water that was clean. But I didn’t let them touch me. Not yet. I stayed in the corner, my eyes watching, waiting. The other dogs here seemed happy. They wagged their tails, licked the hands of the humans that came to see them. I didn’t understand it. I wanted to – but I couldn’t. It may have been a nicer place. To me it was still a prison.

And then, there was him.

He came one day, a man with kind eyes. He didn’t try to touch me. He just sat there, first inside of my cage, his back to me. He spoke, his voice low, gentle, not like the others. He didn’t look at me, not at first. He just sat, day after day, until I started to move closer. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way he didn’t force me. Maybe it was the way his voice reminded me of the warmth I had once felt next to my mother. One day, he held out a treat, his hand steady, patient. I wanted it, my stomach rumbling, but I was scared. Still, I took a step forward – then another. I sniffed his hand, and he stayed still. Slowly, I took the treat, my eyes never crossing his.

Days passed, and he came back, again and again. He started calling me Sam. I liked the way it sounded – soft, not harsh like the other names I had been called. Then he would take a childlike tone and say: “you’re a good boy”. Each time he would utter those words, it fell as if I were getting closer to the surface from the depth I was digging myself out of. One day, I did something I had never done before. I leaned forward and licked his cheek. His eyes filled with something I didn’t understand, something warm, and he smiled. He reached out, his hand brushing my fur, and for the first time, I let him. His touch was gentle, and I felt something inside me shift, something I had kept locked away for too long.

He came every day, and every day, I let him touch me a little more. I started to wag my tail when I saw him, a small movement at first, but it grew, and soon, I was pressing myself against the bars, waiting for him. He was my friend, the first friend I had ever had.

But then, one day, he didn’t come. I waited, my eyes on the door, my ears straining for the sound of his voice. But he didn’t come. Days passed, and I felt the emptiness grow inside me. I didn’t understand. Had I done something wrong? Had he left me, just like everyone else?

And then, one morning, a new human came. She was soft-spoken, her eyes kind like his. She opened my cage, and I shrank back, fear gripping me. But she didn’t force me. She waited, her hand held out, and slowly, I stepped forward. She put something around my neck – a leash – and led me out. I was scared, my body trembling, but her voice was gentle, and I followed her. She took me to a car, and I hesitated, the memories of being taken away from my mother flashing in my mind. But then I smelt it – his scent. It was everywhere, and I didn’t understand because he clearly wasn’t around. I climbed into the car, my heart pounding, my nose searching for the source of his scent.

In the car, I felt the dark presence one last time. It was faint, barely there, but I could feel the coldness of it in the back of the car, the smell of rot clinging to the air. But I wasn’t paralyzed this time. I curled up, my body tense, my eyes darting around, but there was nothing there. Slowly, as the car moved, the presence began to fade. The air grew warmer, the smell dissipated, and the coldness lifted. It was as if the presence was dying, being left behind as we drove away from my horrible past.

The woman spoke to me, her voice soft, and as we drove, she reached over, her hand resting on the seat beside me. I was scared, but I needed comfort, and slowly, I placed my paw on her hand. She smiled, and I felt something inside me start to melt. She was kind. Maybe – just maybe – she wouldn’t hurt me.

When the car stopped, she spoke into a small device, her voice excited. I heard his name – Nathan – and my ears perked up. The door opened, and she stepped out. I watched her, my heart racing, and then I saw him. He was there, standing outside, his eyes wide with surprise. He called my name, his voice breaking, and I felt something inside me snap. I jumped out of the car, my legs moving before I even knew what I was doing. I ran to him, my tail wagging, my voice crying out. He knelt, his arms open, and I pressed myself against him, my body shaking, tears in my eyes. I couldn't stop jumping and kissing his ears and his face.

He held me, his hands gentle, his voice soft as he spoke to me and turned to look at his wife. "Oh honey," he said to the human female, his eyes wet, "I can't believe you did this for me. I love you so much". I didn’t understand the words, but I understood the feelings. He loved me. He hadn’t left me. He was here, and he was mine.

And then, there was the small human – the one from my dreams. They brought him out, and he was tiny, his eyes wide as he looked at me. I moved closer, my nose sniffing him, and he giggled, the sound filling the air. I wagged my tail, my heart swelling. He reached out, his small hand brushing my fur, and I knew – this was now my family.

I had dreamed of this – of love, of safety, of warmth. And now, it was real. I was home.

The days that followed were like something out of a story we’d tell each other at the mill. I was no longer in a cage. There was no rusted metal, no cold floor, no darkness. There was light, warmth, and laughter. The small human – they called him Oliver – laughed every time he saw me. His tiny hands would reach out, and I would press my nose into them, lick his face to my heart’s desire, his giggles filling the room. Nathan would sit with me, his hand on my back, his voice soft as he spoke to me. And the woman – Nadia – she was kind, her eyes always gentle when she looked at me, and she would always slip me food from under the table while Nathan wasn’t looking. So, when they'd all eat at the table, I would always sit next to her, even though Nathan is my main human. It never seems to bother him, but I always check to make sure it’s okay by looking at him. I think he knows that Nadia is always slipping me food, because he smirks each time that she does, and pretends to ignore it.

One night, I lay on the floor beside Oliver’s crib. The room was dark, the only light coming from a small lamp in the corner. I watched him sleep, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. I listened to the soft sounds he made, the little sighs and murmurs. And I knew, deep down, that I would always protect him. No matter what.

The world outside was still a place of shadows, a place where monsters lurked. I knew that. I had seen the darkness, felt it. But here, in this house, with my family, there was light. There was warmth. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged.

Nathan would take me outside sometimes. We would walk by the lake, the water shimmering under the sun. I loved those moments, the feeling of the cold grass under my paws, the wind in my fur. I would run, my body free, my heart light. And Nathan would laugh, his voice carrying across the water, and I would bark, the sound echoing in the air. It was freedom. It was joy. It was everything I had ever dreamed of.

There were still nights when the past would come back to haunt me. When the shadows would creep in, and the memories of the puppy mill would resurface. I would see the monster’s face, feel his hands on my back, hear the cries of the other dogs, and sense the dark presence surrounding me. The difference now is that these horrors exist only in my mind. Looking at Oliver, at Nathan, at Nadia, I would know that I was safe. The monsters can’t hurt me no more.

One day, as I lay on the grass, Oliver beside me, his tiny hand resting on my back, I looked up at the sky. The sun was warm, the trees multicolored, and the air filled with the scent of autumn leaves. I felt a peace I had never known before. I closed my eyes, and I knew that I would never be alone again.

A dog in a cage I am no longer. My name is Sam, and I am loved.