The Story of Sam Duke Mae

(Right before Thanksgiving. November, 2014)

Sam Duke Mae was a German Shepherd, a very fine dog; large, lean, black & brown furred, like my cat Volde. His ears were alert triangles. His body was unmolested: ears, balls, and tail all still intact. He was strong, and smart, but was untrusting of people.

I met him the day I arrived at the County Line Store in Mantee, Mississippi, a place where alcohol runs rampant, although the county Mantee is the edge of is dry. People were constantly walking out of the store with cases of beer. In the midst of all this, there were several stray animals, under the wall. Sam pawed me, jumped up on me, licked me, wagged his tail, and smiled. I asked inside if anyone wanted him, and no one expressed anything but indifference towards him.

I named him Sam Duke Mae (first, Sam, then Duke, then Mae), and decided I wanted to take him home with me.

It took an hour to get him to follow me. As a matter of fact, I gave up and left, and I didn't succeed until I came back, the next day, and a black man in a pick-up gave me a free rope for a leash, + a leather collar. When I got the rope and collar around Sam's neck, he still didn't want to leave, but I had other intentions. He willingly followed only half the time, struggling to resist the other half. I told him about my tent just a few more yards further in the woods, and dragged him against his will, even when he didn't want to follow.

In 5 minutes, we'd arrived at my camp site in the woods. To show him that I cared for him, I sat down on a log, and offered some ham for him to eat. We sat there in the woods and together we ate. He was very hungry so I think we sat there and ate for at least 15 minutes.

For the next 3 days, Sam Duke and I hung out. I played him harmonica, told him stories and jokes, entertained myself in my tent (philosophized, sang, played the harmonica, and masturbated, thinking about some girl named Marissa that I knew), and fed him plenty of good food from the County Line Store.

When I went to the store, he would always follow me, and once, we took a walk another way home than we usually took. Suddenly, I realized I'd misplaced my EBT card, and told him 'We have to go back to town until we find it, or we're fucked!' He was alert and came right away. Thankfully, it was right where I left it.We took the way home after that.

On our third day hanging out together in the woods, I pulled up the stakes of my tent, and took the road south, with Sam Duke following/running along the right side of me, along the right hand side of the road.

At this point, we discovered a deer that had been road-kill. Sam Duke Mae ravenously attacked it. He bit and tore at the flesh of the dead deer. He did a dance ('touche!'), jumping toward and away from the carcass, barking at it madly all the while, as if it were alive. I had a 40 of malt liquor and some Snickers, so I just sat in the grass 5 feet away, and encouraged him to eat all he wanted of the deer.

It took a little training, but pretty soon, he learned to STAY on that side of the road (the road that we were on, the Natchez Trace, is a pretty straight & quiet road, which is why this system was not disclaimed immediately...). When we woke up the next morning (Day 4), he had learned to stay on the right about 85% of the time, and when he veered left and criss-crossed my path, the cars had already seen us from far behind, so those accidents were avoided.

By the afternoon, we had reached the bridge intersection of the Natchez and Highway 82 close to Eupora, and I found Sam Duke Mae did not want to pass; not only did he not want to pass, he absolutely refused to. I layed on my back and played some black plastic harmonicas that I had (Hush Little Baby, Rock-A-Bye Baby, and It Came Upon A Midnight Clear [weeks later, when I revisited the spot where Sam died, I would replay these songs]) trying to get him to change his mind. Eventually, I gave up trying to convince him to, and told him I was going to the county line store to get some food—that I'd be back—and I tied him to a tree over the busy intersection.

The ride from the intersection at Eupora to the nearest convenience store took about 20 minutes, and I bought typical convenience store food (pastries, beef jerky, hot dogs) for Sam and I to eat, and then turned the bike in the same direction from which I came, until I reached him, another 20 minutes later.

When I got back, he was very happy to see me again, and reassured. But he still refused to cross the bridge over the busy intersection. With resignation, I thought of that old parable that says 'how tired you were, you couldn't walk, so, where there are usually two pairs of footsteps on the beach, now there is only one, where the Lord carried you.' I lifted Sam Duke Mae up and carried his body across the bridge and a little further on beyond the other side. Here, I saw him calm down, immediately, as the noise subsided.

Somewhere here, Sam Duke Mae and I shared our last meal together: his mostly hot dogs, mine mostly pastries. But he took an unexcused bite from my bear claw (I have since forgiven you, Sam).

It was getting to be dusk, and thus bedtime. I had left my wet clothes on this small bridge, to dry, earlier, as previously to that, it had been raining. It was very quiet here. All I had to do was carry my clothes to a campsite by a peaceful stream that was across the road and less than a mile back from where we'd come. I intended to carry my clothes and my sleeping bag under my arm. I was trying to pick up my sleeping bag to carry it across the road. Unfortunately, the zipper on the sleeping bag was stuck. It wouldn't budge, and I didn't think I could carry it until I got it zipped up. Frustrated, I tried and tried again and again with the zipper. Sam sat by, and had an uneasy look, asking 'why don't we just leave?' With every automobile that passed, I felt myself set off on another cursing reel.

With the sun setting quickly now, I finally said 'fuck it' and decided to try to carry the clothes, sleeping bag zipped or not, back to the campsite. And that's when it happened.

I tried to wrap the clothes up in the sleeping bag so they wouldn't be too cumbersome. As I crossed the highway, I saw a pair of bright headlights coming at me from my right, out of nowhere. I thought he was going to hit me, but he braked, swerved, and he hit Sam instead! I heard his whimper, with a slam, and watched Sam Duke's body go speeding 15 yards down the road, and I knew instantly, he was dead.

The car (I think it was an S.U.V.), came to a slow stop, and the driver asked if I was alright. I told him I was alright, but that he'd just killed my dog. He said he was sorry, but didn't offer anything more than an apology. He got in his car and left, leaving me on the side of the road, to mourn for Sam.

I heaved, I wailed, I tore out my hair, I beat on my chest. I vowed I would mourn by the dead body all night long until I could think of something better to do the next morning. The skull had been cracked, so I slurped his brain up like Jell-O, 5 gulps. I would like to think that his physical brain being digested in my gut that night has influenced MY consciousness.

I found myself in the hospital that night, right where I needed to be. That hospital was in Columbus, Mississippi. The authorities had promised they'd bury him in a specific field I had described on the side of the Natchez Trace, which I had chosen because it was peaceful and quiet.

.

That night, I saw a dog on TV, in a commercial for dog food. The dog was a beast: a massive, beatific St. Bernard. He was frolicking in a lonesome field of daisies, or something like that. It looked like dog heaven.

I'd like to think that there is some parallel between that TV advertisement and the fate of Sam Duke Mae. Perhaps when he comes back for his next life, he'll be reincarnated into some hulk of a dog, both stronger and more independent from his 4 days with me, but also lonelier :( due to my influence.

I miss you Sam Duke!

Slade

(Similar dog, not really Sam Duke Mae.).