I was nine, maybe ten years old at the time. A family member living in SE Asia was moving to another location and was forced to part with their dog. We got a long letter about the dog and finally the thing was shipped around the world in a small cage and my parents picked it up at Kennedy airport while I was at school one day.

My excitement level was high. I really wanted a dog and now I was finally getting one. When I got home from school there was no evidence of a dog. I ran through the house looking everywhere and there was simply no sign of the thing. My father was out back watering the lawn. I noticed a bandage on his hand.

“Where’s the dog?”

“Somewhere in the house,” he said.

“Look,” he continued,” I need to tell you how it is. This animal was trapped in a cage for a long time as it flew around the world. It’s afraid. Who knows what the hell happened to it on those planes, but you need to stay away from him for a while. He’s on edge. Just leave him alone for a few days.”

“Okay. I understand. What happened to your hand?”

“Sammy bit me.” Sammy was the dog’s name.

I went back in the house to look for the dog. I at least had to look at the thing. I didn’t even know what kind of dog it was. A room to room search produced no results and soon I was reduced to looking closets and whatnot. Finally, I found the dog lying far underneath a sofa hiding. I still couldn’t see what the hell it looked like. It seemed to be a large, hairy ball. I stuck my head under there as close as I could. He started growling. I spoke to him in a soothing voice and reached my hand in. I was sure that if I could just pet him he would understand that he had a friend. Just as my hand reached him he lunged for it. It was like a fucking crocodile. I snatched my hand away just in time—I mean it was close. I backed off.

I was disillusioned. My new friend turned out to be a goddamned vicious beast. A goddamned ocelot. I still didn’t even know what I was looking at. It was just a big hairy monster.

I left the thing alone for a few days. I didn’t even see it around the house. It was about a week later when I came home from school and saw it in the yard that realized it might be a normal dog after all. I opened the gate and it didn’t run away so I picked up a stick and threw it and Sammy brought it back. He let me pet him. He seemed to pretty happy. And that night he jumped up on my bed and slept with me.

Sammy and I became inseparable. He would wait by the fence every day for me to get home from school. When he saw me coming he would go berserk. Sammy turned out to be a great dog. I kept trying to find out what kind of a dog it was but I didn’t have much luck. None of my friends had ever seen anything like it either. Sammy didn’t mind my friends as long as they didn’t get too close. Any threatening gesture and Sammy would lunge at them. He was very protective. In fact, if my parents so much as raised their voice to me Sammy started growling at them. And that big bastard could be scary.

One afternoon I came home from school and Sammy wasn’t there. I was worried and ran into the house looking for my old man.

“Where’s Sammy?”

“Your mother took him to the vet or something. They’ll be back.”

I was lying on my bed when I heard the car door slam. I heard Sammy running down the hall towards my room and I opened the door and got the shock of my life. Sammy had been shaved down. All the fur was gone and he was about half the size he was before. And worse than that—he was a poodle. He had been shaped into one of those French poodles that you see on TV. I didn’t know what to say or what to do. He was going crazy, excited to see me and everything and I reached down and started to pet him but it was all too much. All too much.

I got over the fact that Sammy was a poodle. It came down to the fact that he was the same dog as before, but with a fucked up haircut. But when people asked me what kind of dog I had I never really answered. I just mumbled something. And when I was out walking the dog I felt like ass. But in the end Sammy was my friend. I guess it was no fault of his. Last night I had a dream that Sammy was still alive. And I woke up and felt a weight against me in bed I reached down to pet him, but it was my wife lying against me, not Sammy. It was a cruel way to wake up. But now the story is told and I feel somewhat better about the whole thing. Poodle or not, he was a goddamned vicious beast.