“The Farm”

“If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” – Will Rogers, American actor

My husband Alan and I regularly carpool to and from work. On the way home one day, when we were stuck in slow-moving traffic, I threw out a random conversation topic to pass the time. After nearly a decade of marriage, I didn’t think there was anything he could say that would surprise me. I was wrong.”

“So tell me about every pet you’ve ever had, and what happened to each of them.”

Alan started with an inventory of the family cats. Then, after acknowledging the brief existence of a goldfish or two, he turned his attention to the family dogs.

“They were all small dogs. There was Casey, who we had for over 10 years. And Barney. He was a mutt, with maybe some Poodle in him. He was hit by a car.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” I said.

Alan paused for a moment to think before continuing.

“There was Kouri – a Pomeranian. He got some sort of virus and died. And Lucy. I don’t have any memories of her, just pictures, so I think my parents might have had her before I was born.”

Just when I thought Alan had exhausted his list, he spoke again.

“Oh yeah, we also had a dog named Sammy. He bit a little girl and then was sent to live on a farm.”

I glanced over at Alan. The matter-of-fact way in which he spoke made it clear to me that he hadn’t processed what the word “farm” was a euphemism for.

“Wow,” I thought to myself. After nearly a decade of marriage, during which I’ve been the target of his playful teasing and mockery, I was finally going to get an opportunity to turn the tables and have some fun at his expense.

“You know that there’s no farm, right?” I asked, cautiously.

“Hmmm? What?”

Oh my dear, sweet, loving husband. He was 46-years-old at the time.

“Umm… there is no farm. Sammy did not get sent to the farm.”

“Huh?”

“There. Is. No. Farm. The only farm that Sammy got sent to is the great big farm in the sky.”

Silence ensued.

“Think about it,” I said, appealing to his logic and engineering sensibilities. “A dog bites a kid and then gets rewarded for that by being able to live out the rest of his life frolicking freely on a farm? That just doesn’t happen.”

Alan tilted his head in contemplation. He knew what I was saying made perfect sense, but I could tell that he had never considered this before.

“Oh my gawd, there is no farm!” I repeated in mock frustration. “Wake up! Don’t be so naïve! THERE IS NO FARM!” At this point in time, we were both laughing. He was getting teased – and teased badly.

Alan was scheduled to fly home to Penticton, B.C. in a couple of weeks for his annual ski trip. I suggested that he ask his older sister and mother about Sammy then.

***

A few weeks later…

“So, did you ask your sister about Sammy going to The Farm?” I used each of my index and middle fingers to mime quotation marks as I said the last two words.

“Yup.”

“Well, what did she say?” I was dying to hear the answer and the huge smile on my face revealed as much.

“She said it was a good question and that she had never really thought about it.”

I laughed out loud. “And did you ask your mom?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She said she can’t remember the details.”

Alan smiled at me and shrugged his shoulders. It was clear he wasn’t going to give me the satisfaction of admitting that I was right.

“Have it your way,” I said, still chuckling. “There is no farm,” I teased, in a whisper just loud enough for him to hear.