The
BOOK of SAM
by
A.E.Hayward
Sam usually has his meal in the evening, when he staggers home exhausted after a busy but fulfilling day. Sometimes he has it a little earlier, if the day has been particularly tiring (and fulfilling). And on occasions he has it in the morning, in case the day is so tiring (and fulfilling) that he hasn't the energy to eat later.
One day Sam had decided that he would eat his dinner in the afternoon, as he had a feeling that he was just about to go out and do something strenuous and needed to build up his strength. His dinner was in a plate on the back doorstep, so naturally that was where he went to eat it. When he got there, it was gone. That is to say, the dinner was gone - the plate was still there, looking rather forlorn, having been denied its chance to play a useful role in society.
"Well!" said Sam. "Really! I I I must say . I am surprised. My dinner's gone!"
Then he said "Perhaps I ate it?"
So he sat down for a while and tried to remember whether he had or not. He knew that he'd eaten it yesterday, but then that was a different dinner entirely, wasn't it? That is to say, it wasn't actually different, being composed of meat and dog biscuits like all his other dinners. But they weren't actually the same meat and dog biscuits, because they were yesterday's meat and dog biscuits, and these were today's meat and dog biscuits. Well, they weren't today's meat and dog biscuits, because they weren't here today to be today's meat and dog biscuits, but if they had been here today they would have been today's meat and dog biscuits because he would have eaten them today, or had he? But perhaps they had been here yesterday, and he had made a mistake? In that case, were they today's meat and dog biscuits being yesterday by mistake, or were they yesterday's meat and dog biscuits on purpose? Or not? Sam gave up (so should you, if you've got any sense).
The next thing Sam thought was "Still, I'm fairly certain that I haven't eaten any dinner today, whether it was today's or yesterday's or last Tuesday's. But my dinner has gone, so somebody must have eaten it. It wasn't me, so it must have been somebody else. Now, who dislikes me enough to eat my dinner? Or conversely, who dislikes my dinner enough to eat it? Alternatively, who does my dinner dislike being eaten by? Or yet again, am I mistaken in ascribing any volition to a dog's dinner?"
Just then the answer to Sam's problem came in sight, in the shape (or, to be unnecessarily precise, shapes) of two strange dogs. Sam had never seen them before. One was tall and had long ginger hair, and moved with the innate grace and sense of dignity that only comes from generations of careful breeding and not enough to do. The other was small and fluffy and had a moth on her nose.
"Hallo," said Sam, "did you know you've got a moth on your nose?"
"Oh yes!" said the small fluffy one eagerly, "it was there when I woke up this morning. I thought it looked rather fetching so I left it there. I think it likes me. Actually, this could start a new vogue, couldn't it? I mean, ladybirds would look nice - or how about butterflies? That's if one could get them to keep still, of course. But then this moth has, hasn't he, so perhaps I shouldn't have too much trouble with butterflies, I mean, they're very alike, aren't they, and I do seem to have a way with me where these things are concerned, don't I, after all it took to me all of its own accord right out of the blue without any prompting and ."
"Errrhm-hm!" The large and dignified ginger dog cleared his throat significantly, and looked down his nose. "Errrhm-hm!" he said. "Since there appears to be no-one in the vicinity who is qualified to perform that office for us, I feel it behoves us to introduce ourselves."
Sam was forced to agree, since he did not know exactly what the ginger dog was talking about.
"I am forced to agree," he said, "since well you're probably right."
"Yes," said the other dog. "My name is Rufus Riordan of Snauchty-ma-Crauchty the Third. My friends call me Rory. This young person is my protιgι. Her name is Penny."
"I'm very pleased to meet you," Sam replied. "My name is Sam, not of anywhere. The First. Have you seen a dinner lying around, by any chance?"
Rory stretched and yawned in a rather grand way. "As it happens, we have, actually. It was lying on this plate. Since someone had been so careless as to leave it lying around, we thought it best to put it to good use, so we ate it."
Penny sidled over and whispered "Really, he ate it. I didn't like to, on account of it might have disturbed my moth. I thought I'd call it 'Rover'. What do you think?"
"I think," said Sam, feeling close to tears, "That was my dinner, and now I'll have to wait until tomorrow. Oh, bother!" And he flopped down on the ground with his head in his paws.
"Come, come, old boy!" said Rory grandly. "You ought to be pleased to have been of service! After, all, we are newcomers to this out-of-the-way place, so you should be proud to offer the paw of hospitality."
"Or 'Bounce' would be nice," put in Penny, "except that he doesn't. Bounce, I mean."
"Well," said Sam, "if you put it like that I suppose you're very welcome. It was only a very small, ordinary dinner, though "
"That's right," said Rory, "it was. Very. Still, we won't hold that against you. I'm sure you try your best."
"Thank you."
"Of course, butterflies being so light and airy, like, they might tickle a bit. There's a comforting weight about a moth, you know. How about 'Rex'?"
Sam wondered which part of the conversation he was supposed to be listening to, and decided that as he had two ears he might as well try and listen to both.
"My father was a class winner at Cruft's, you know," said Rory unexpectedly, looking up at the sky.
Sam looked up at the sky too in case it was doing anything unusual, but it wasn't so he looked down again. "Er was he? That must have been lovely. Erm I've got a bone buried at the bottom of the drive. Would you like to see it?"
"No thanks, old boy. Don't go in for that sort of thing myself. Rather childish, hoarding things. Besides, the earth spoils the flavour - makes it taste of beetles."
"Oh," said Sam.
There was a short silence. Penny was trying to look down her nose at the moth with both eyes at once. The moth looked a little uncomfortable being the centre of so much attention.
Sam tried again. "There's a lovely big loch here. Do you like swimming?"
"Love it, old boy, simply love it!" Rory said, smiling genially. "Of course, I shouldn't care to swim here. Not the thing at all. Too cold, old boy, too cold by half. Now, the Mediterranean, there's the place to swim. Clear blue water, clear blue sky, the sun beating down ah, yes! Sweet memories! We go there every year, you know. Where do you go, old boy?"
Sam frowned. "Well," he said, "I've been to to to Fishing! That's where. To Fishing!"
"Fishing? Do you mean angling? Coarse or fly?"
Penny looked up. "Of course he can fly, can't you Spot? All moths can fly!"
Sam thought of the Pike. "There was a Pike. It bit me."
"Bit you, dear boy? Bit you? Whatever next? You shouldn't have let it do that! Oh dear, no. Show 'em who's boss, that's the ticket. As long as you get off on the right foot, you'll have no trouble with pike, dear boy!"
"How about a daddy-longlegs for evening wear?" said Penny. "You know, something a bit more flowing and elegant?"
Sam felt that this conversation (or rather, these conversations) wasn't (or rather, weren't) going to well. "Perhaps," he thought, "offence is the best means of defence. But if so, how can I best give offence?" Aloud he said "Why have you got such a long name?"
"Well actually, old boy, that's because of the pedigree, you see. When you've got a pedigree you can't let the side down by walking about with a common-or-garden sort of name like 'Sam', now can you? I mean, 'Sam' may be all right for a common-or-garden, call-a-spade-a-spade sort of chap like yourself, salt of the earth and all that, but it's hardly the way one likes to behave oneself, is it, old boy?"
"No," said Sam, "I suppose not."
"Not, of course," Rory continued, "that it's a matter of class. Not at all. Lot of stuffy old nonsense, that is. Don't believe in that at all - we're all equal these days, old boy. One man's as good as another, and so's his dog!"
"Or moth," said Penny.
"It's just that some of us", pressed Rory, "some of us have a responsibility for setting an example. I mean, some of us have a position to maintain in society, and what we do and the way we behave is noticed. So we have to er set an example! You see?"
"Yes," said Sam, who didn't. He thought he'd probably ask 'edge'og about it. It sounded just up his street, being a bit philosophical.
Penny was now having a bit of a scratch, being careful not to dislodge Spot who had turned round and was facing left instead of right. "You're boring poor little Spot with all this talk," she said. "He understands every word you say, you know. Can't we go and do something?"
Sam thought this was a good idea. "What did you have in mind?" he asked.
"Well, how about a cockroach hunt?" she said. "I could use a cockroach or two - they're very chic this season."
"Cockroaches?" sniffed Rory. "My dear girl, you don't seriously expect me to go hunting cockroaches, do you? Not that there's anything wrong with hunting, mind you - I've done no end of it in my time. And shooting. And fishing. Not for cockroaches, though. What's the hunting like round here?"
"There's rabbits," Sam said craftily. "I used to chase them every evening, but I've given it up just lately," - he thought quickly - "er, they were getting a bit too fast for me."
"Oh dear, oh dear!" hooted Rory. "What a thing to say! You mean you actually let a bunch of rabbits get the best of you? You want to buck your ideas up, you do!" He paused to insect a front claw modestly, and went on "Look here! I haven't much on this evening. I don't mind giving you a few pointers. Where are these rabbits, then?"
So Sam, feeling mean and underhand and thoroughly pleased with himself but trying not to show it, led the way down the drive to the rabbit field. On the way Rory discoursed about the hunting he had done. He was, of course, vastly experienced. "Mind you," he said, "rabbits take some beating. Your humble rabbit can be a tricky blighter. Still, superior intelligence and technique are what count in the end. Lead on, old boy!"
When they reached the rabbit field the rabbits had already started the evening nibble, and were evenly scattered across the grass. To Sam's eyes they looked fat, sleek and self-confident. Rory stopped and sniffed the wind.
"From the south-west," he said, "that's where I shall make my approach, I think. It's technique that counts, you see. Always approach from down wind. Come along, come along!" And he led them at the trot round the edge of the field to a spot near the gate. Here he paused.
"This should do, I think. Right, here goes! You two stay here and observe how it's done. What you people don't realise is that chasing rabbits, like many other things, is an art. It's not good enough just to rush around yapping like some mongrel who doesn't know any better. The enterprise must be undertaken with poise and elegance." With this he struck a pose, head raised and one front paw off the ground, and then bounded gracefully forward.
As he approached the rabbits he raised his muzzle and let out a sort of yodelling whoop, which made all the rabbits sit up and look. They didn't move, though. Rory bounded gracefully through the centre of the rabbits and emerged on the other side of the field.
Here, for the first time, he looked a little uncertain. Still, he uttered his whoop again, struck his pose and bounded forward. Not a rabbit stirred. Rory stopped right in the middle of the field and looked about him. Now, the rabbits moved. As if at a word of command they converged on poor Rory. There was a brief flurry of action, and then Rory appeared moving with what seemed to Sam a little less than his usual grace and artistry and a little more than his usual speed, heading for the far side of the field. When he reached the long grass he did not stop, but plunged in and disappeared from view.
"As I said," breathed Sam, "I've given it up myself."
Penny said "I never went in for rabbits much myself. They're mostly bigger than me."
Side by side they set off round the edge of the field. "I didn't really cared for him at all," said Penny as they went. "Pompous old wind-bag! Do you think a nice earwig would go with my eyes? They're rather an earwiggy colour, don't you think?"
"The Book of Sam" by A.E.Hayward © 1975 Alfred Hayward
This web page © 2007 Alfred Hayward
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