🐾Meet Samantha, CEO of Drive-Thru Diplomacy
My baby Samantha was born in August of 2014. She was the sweetest puppy — a cute little girl with an adorable potbelly, so loving and playful and full of energy. Seeing how small she was when I brought her home (15 lbs) to how big she got full-grown (160 lbs) is astounding. She was so smart and funny and the absolute light of my life.
“Where it all began.”
In the beginning, training her was extremely easy, and I hoped she’d become a therapy dog — but her stubborn, free-spirited independence (one of the things I loved most about her) proved to make that dream impossible.
She was truly my child, and there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.
She had some medical issues, and I was by her side through all of them — from literal growing pains to her blowing out her ACLs and getting 3-D-printed back-leg braces. She hated thunder and fireworks, and I would lay in the bathtub hiding with her until she got too big to hold. Then I started planning overnight trips out of the area for New Year’s and the Fourth of July to keep her comfortable, because her anxiety would cause her to “dig to the center of the earth.” Leaving was easier — even when it was expensive. Because replacing rugs is expensive too, but watching her peace return was priceless.
She was my ride-or-die, and we had the best relationship.
I’m going to take the rest of this blog to share some of my favorite stories to remember her.
🔔 The Jingle Bells Routine
Because of her size, Samantha didn’t have a doggy door — she had jingle bells tied to the sliding glass door. She’d ring them when she wanted to go out, but only after I was settled. Never before. Always once I was fully comfortable.
She was the same way when coming in. I’d try to convince her to come inside before I sat down, and she’d insist she was staying out a while — or suddenly act like she couldn’t hear me. Then, once I had my chair reclined, sure enough she’d be scratching at the door.
When I wanted her to do something, it had to be on her schedule. But when she wanted something — especially to go in or out — she’d ring the bells or scratch over and over, louder and louder, if I wasn’t moving fast enough. In her later years this sassy attitude only grew stronger, and I loved that about her. She was her own dog.
That sound of the bells still echoes in my memory like wind chimes for the soul. Sometimes I swear I hear them in the quiet and, for a heartbeat, I forget she’s gone.
🍔 The Drive-Thru Years
Her favorite outings were always the drive-thrus—In-N-Out for her pup patty, Dutch Bros for a whipped-cream mustache and a new set of admirers.
She’d watch the vegetable-cutting operation at In-N-Out with the focus of a head chef inspecting her line cooks. And the night she barked loud enough between the payment and pickup windows that the entire staff came running to wave? That was her Super Bowl.
At Dutch, she was basically famous. Baristas leaned halfway out of the window to hand-feed her the pup cup and film their “favorite customer.” For Samantha, people weren’t strangers—they were an audience for joy. Truly, her love language was strangers and whipped cream.
“That look that said she understood everything.“
🐦 The Curve-Billed Thrasher Chronicles (and Other Backyard Politics)
And then there was the bird.
Not just any bird — the curve-billed thrasher, Samantha’s sworn nemesis. It perched on the backyard wall like it paid rent, chirping purely to test her patience.
Even if she heard that same call through my phone while talking to a friend, she’d growl — grumpy justice delivered from the couch.
She also chased off the doves with righteous determination, yet somehow found time for a daily play date with the neighborhood squirrel — a chase-and-pause duet that looked more like friendship than fury.
Samantha ruled her little kingdom with firm but fair paws: defending the perimeter, disciplining the birds, entertaining her squirrel subject, and alerting anytime an errant leaf ended up in the pool — all in a day’s work.
Every soul has its nemesis. Hers just happened to have feathers… and an audience.
💪 The Therapist’s Favorite (and Mommy’s Too)
When Samantha got her leg braces, she had to go to weekly physical therapy. Her therapist, Kate, was her second-favorite human — only behind Mommy. Going to see her was the highlight of her week. I couldn’t say Kate’s name the night before her sessions because then Samantha wouldn’t sleep; she’d be too excited to go see her.
“Rehab queen 👑—still showing up for herself.”
As she got older her mobility kept slipping, she would still get excited and jump around, bossing the birds and playing with the squirrel, and you could see her pain as her joints struggled for the next several days. Kate’s weekly massages became her lifeline. The moment Kate laid her hands on her, you could see relief ripple through her. She’d walk out like a new dog — looser, lighter, ready to chase life again.
Honestly, losing Samantha broke Kate’s heart too — she’d worked on her body, but it was her spirit that left the bigger imprint.
“My Old-lady baby, safe and warm.“
🕯 When She Left (and What She Taught Me About Staying)
Her last days were hard, both of us hurting in different ways. I had a stent in and surgery just days ahead; she had her tired body and her enormous heart still trying to follow me from chair to chair. In those final minutes, she reached for my hand and made me hold her paw — still comforting me, even then.
“Her royal fluffiness.“
I wasn’t right beside her when she passed, but we were in the same room, and I know she knew. Because love like that doesn’t need proximity; it’s already in the air between us.
She went so quickly — she tried to sit up and collapsed. She left before she hit the ground, spared the pain, wrapped instead in mercy. The silence was immediate; the whole feeling in the room shifted.
The moment she left, her face changed. She didn’t look like my Samantha anymore. And that was the strangest kind of comfort — proof that the soul goes somewhere, that the light inside her simply moved on. Because I was alone when it happened, that change actually made the business part of death a little easier to handle — from getting her put into the car by my rock star neighbor and his son, to taking her to the funeral home, to processing all the paperwork.
A month later, my roommate decided to get two new dogs. He said the house was too quiet, and since I was going to leave for rehab, he needed companions. I’m convinced she still clocks in as a celestial training manager. She loved to play a game known as “no kisses for Mommy,” and Rusty is a master at that game. Daisy, meanwhile, loves to chase lizards and bugs, and her technique is eerily similar. None of them are the same breed, so it’s not a breed trait — it’s a Samantha trait.
🌙🌕 Mini-Eulogy | For Wupples, My Old Lady Baby
Her name was Samantha, but to those who loved her best, she was Wupples — my old-lady baby, my secret service, my emotional-support dog, and the one true love of my life.
She got me through the deaths of my cats and my grandparents, through hospital stays and heartbreaks, through every moment when I didn’t think I could do it alone. She never left my side — unless a broomstick or a hanger dared to block her path, in which case she’d cry until I moved it.
She was a treat connoisseur who eventually trained us. One for getting into bed, another for getting back into bed after midnight potty breaks. She believed every good deed — standing, blinking, existing — deserved dried liver.
She was a master of routines. Ice cream was her nightly ritual — first from Dairy Queen, then, when her body couldn’t handle eating the soft serve cold so fast, a scoop of Blue Bell or Breyers hard-packed ice cream met her dessert needs before sleep.
When she knew it was bedtime, she didn’t take no for an answer. She pouted and threw a fit until we went to the bedroom. But if I had to stay up late, she’d stay too, sighing gently, waiting for me to remember that rest is sacred.
I still feel her everywhere. In the quiet. In the jingle of old bells. In the drive-thru laughter of strangers who once knew her name. I swear I can hear her breathing or grunting to get my attention for an extra treat late at night — and I hope I always do.
🌿 Reflection
Grief doesn’t punch a clock. It doesn’t show up neatly on anniversaries or fade on schedule. Some days it’s quiet, like the echo of her nails on the floor in another room. Other days it hits like the slam of a screen door — sudden, sharp, uninvited.
But the truth is, grief is just love with nowhere to go. It’s proof that something beautiful once existed, and that part of it still lives in you.
Samantha taught me that routines are sacred because they anchor us in love: the nightly ice cream, the bedtime rituals, the way she refused to let me forget that joy doesn’t need a reason — it is the reason.
So if you’re missing someone — fur, feathers, or otherwise — don’t rush your healing. Grief has no calendar.
Because Samantha wouldn’t want tears without treats, go get a pup cup, a cookie, or a drive-thru fry. Do it in her honor. And if a bird side-eyes you on the way — bark once for her. 🐾
“Signed with love, forever hers.“
💕 Before You Go
If this post reached your heart, share it. Tell someone about your own Wupples. Post a photo, light a candle, or buy the treat your pet used to love. Grief can feel lonely — but remembering out loud brings them back to life for a moment.
And if you’re still in the thick of it — still missing, still aching — me too. Let’s promise to keep showing up for love anyway.
🍪 Snack Call | Because Ritual Matters
Next Week: Yes, I’m Still Healing. No, It’s Not Linear.
A love letter to the messy middle, where progress looks suspiciously like standing still.
Snack: Half-baked cookies — because healing’s not done either. 🍪
🎭 Closing Line | Residency Night Three
Every goodbye is really just an intermission when love is that strong.
Because dogs like Samantha don’t just leave paw prints —
they leave a legacy of snacks, sass, and unconditional love that deserves a standing ovation. 🩷🐾
Curtain falls for tonight.
Encore next week. Bring the cookies, and the applause. 🍪👏
0 Comments