SAM AND THE SEEMINGLY EMPTY CHAIR
Sam, aged one, had already made many friends, both canine and human, but one that especially lingers in my memory is a friend he made on the moors between our Welsh home and the sea.
We were walking there when he suddenly ran off toward a woman I’d never seen before and planted a large paw possessively on one of her feet.
His paw remained steadfastly in place as I rushed up with an apology. "Oh, please don't apologise!" Sam's new friend said to me, seemingly happy to have his paw still on her foot. "It makes me feel special that he's singled me out for attention."
Well, one thing led to another, resulting in an invitation a few days later to Barbara's for tea.
We were barely over her threshold before a black cat shot past Sam. Glad he still had his lead on, I was astonished when he took no notice of the cat. Was it possible he hadn't seen it? To my mind such a thing was quite impossible!
As Barbara bustled through to her kitchen, before emerging with tea and cake on a tray, I started praying.
Was that because I'm overtly religious? No, it was because Sam was behaving very strangely.
There was a large leather chair to the left of the fireplace, where a log fire burned in the grate, and Sam was looking up at it as if at an occupant. Or, heaven forbid, did he plan to occupy it himself?
This was my worry as Barbara started pouring tea. I just hoped he'd remember the 'house rules' I'd tried to instill in him - one of which was not to jump on chairs that weren't his.
Then the cat came back - and lingered defiantly near Sam, who for the moment ignored it ...
With cups of tea on a little table between Barbara and me, I could easily foresee all kinds of calamities, but my hostess in a calm voice said: "Don't worry! Let's just watch what he does next."
She was looking at Sam, who was staring at the unoccupied chair as if mesmerized by it.
"What can you see?" Barbara asked him softly. "Or should I be asking you 'who'?"
As if in answer, Sam gave a little bark before lifting a paw and placing it on the seat.
There it stayed as I bemusedly asked Barbara: "Whose chair is it?"
"My dear husband's," she answered, with tears dampening her cheeks, "who died very recently. "Sam can see him, can't he? Oh, I can't begin to tell you what a comfort this is to me!"
