Samson (Jaguar) Hjelmstad

The other day while driving home from preschool, we somehow got on the subject of middle names. Marie was going through the middle names of everyone in our family, and it was pretty endearing to hear her calling us "Mommy Christina Hjelmstad" and "Daddy Christian Hjelmstad." But she seemed pretty disheartened when she found out Samson didn't have a middle name. "Well, a lot of times dogs don't have middle names," I said. She continued to go through the rest of the family names, but was clearly still mulling sadly over the absence of Samson's middle name. "Mommy?" she said finally, "can I please give Samson a middle name?"
Well this could get interesting, I thought. She's already christened her imaginary friends as Ellie, Belly, and Hellie. But what harm can it do? I thought. It's not like it's going on any official records. So I smiled as I caught a glimpse of her hopeful eyes in the rear view mirror and I said "Sure! Go ahead. What should his middle name be?" Without missing a beat, she answered, "Jaguar!" "Jaguar?!?" I said. "Yeah. Like the animal!" she replied. So there it was. A big burly dog with a big bad cat middle name. But in an odd sort of way I think it fits perfectly. And since I realized recently that I've never actually shared Samson's story (although I've referred to him in plenty of posts!), and since his birthday is (sometime) in March, I thought this would be the perfect time to introduce you properly to the one and only Samson 'Jaguar' Hjelmstad. So, without further ado, here's his story!

And It Begins...

It all started--as most good ideas do--with a picture of a puppy. (<--Trust me, you'll want to look at that). It was the summer of 2007 and Peter and I were fresh out of West Point. Yet we were in this weird no-man's land: we were new Lieutenants but still had some training before we started our "real" jobs; we were happily engaged but waiting very impatiently for our fall wedding; and we were just full of excitement to start "real" life to start in NY, but first we had to do our time in the pride of Oklahoma--Fort Sill--for two months of sweat, training, and more sweat. Thankfully, we not only won the lottery of being assigned to the same training location at the same time, we also ended up in the same platoon with the same exact schedule. Which gave us plenty of time on the weekends to plan for our future, and do important things like pick out wedding colors (Peter's dream come true) and pore over dog breed books. We of course bought the thickest one we could find, and being that the only picture which also included a puppy was the Great Pyrenees page, we naturally decided that THAT was the breed for us. For sure.

Practically the next weekend we were driving through the tiny backwoods town of Medicine Park on the way back from the mountains, when Lo and Behold, there was a litter of fluffy white puppies frolicking in the fenced-in front yard of one of the houses. We both agreed that they looked exactly like Great Pyr pups. We pulled over immediately, jumped out of the Jeep, and completely lost our hearts as the puppies ran up to the fence. We stuck our hands through to pet them, let them nip at our fingers, and waited an inordinate amount of time to see if the owners would come out. They never did so we spent the next few weekends awkwardly stalking the puppies and doing some amateur sleuthing (aka asking around at local businesses) to find out the owners' names...and number...and if we could buy one of the puppies...seriously awkward. But we struck gold at the little ice cream shop, who gave us a name, which led to a number (thank you White Pages), which led to a call and finally a meeting. We found out that yes, they were Great Pyrenees pups (got to meet both mom and dad too), yes, they were selling them, and yes, we could buy one. Or two. We were ecstatic. We quickly decided to get a boy and a girl. The only problem was that between Ft. Sill and NY, we had three more months of specialized training in separate places. I was scheduled to go to SC for Human Resources training, and Peter to San Antonio for Medical Services training. We would both have to stay in hotel-like Army Lodging. Translation: no pets allowed. I made desperate calls to both base's lodging officers, veterinary clinics, local pet boarding agencies, anything and everything to see if we could work it out. But no dice. It just wasn't happening. Those puppies were not going to be ours. So we left Ft. Sill [and each other and the puppies] with sad little hearts.

Say no to this face?
I think not.

Fast forward two months--I was in SC and Peter was in TX. I returned to my lonely room one day after training to hear the most franticly excited message I'd ever heard from Peter. "Um, so I just happened to stop by the animal shelter on the way home here in San Antonio," he said ['just happened', riiight], "and they just happened to have a Great Pyrenees that they put out just today and he's a year old and housebroken and the sign says he loves kid and his name is Samson and I've been walking him around and everyone keeps stopping to pet him...and...and please can we get him? Please?!? Call me!"

Well of course you all know what I could say to that.

By the time I called Peter back, he'd practically started the paperwork. He told me that Samson was extremely neglected and malnourished when the shelter rescued him. His white fur was stained red from the harness he was permanently bound by, and he was only 60 lbs. Now that might not seem like a big deal, but you have to understand how big a Great Pyr actually is--especially a male. He is as tall, if not taller than a Great Dane, Mastiff, or Saint Bernard--but covered in a shock of fluffy, downy white fur (for which our Samson was so aptly named!). A full-grown male Pyr of Samson's height is supposed to be 120-130 lbs. So the fact that he was less than half his healthy weight when they found him is just heartbreaking. But they had miraculously gotten him up to 90 lbs by the time they decided that it was the right day to put him out on the floor for adoption. Which, again, was the exact day that Peter "just happened" to stop by, you know, for laffs.

Samson puppy livin' large in the hotel...
Sneaking naps on the king-sized bed while Dad's gone...
Just like he does on our couches now...

Anyway, I knew it couldn't work. I felt silly trying to remind Peter that we had no real place to keep such a beast, no matter how beautiful or lovable. But by some twist of fate, when Peter had arrived in San Antonio for his Med Service training, there was no vacancy in the on-base lodging, so they put up half his class in a Holiday Inn. A pet-friendly Holiday Inn, as Peter discovered. That somehow had no pet weight limits or size restrictions or rules requiring the owner to be in the room at the same time. So Peter completed the paperwork, triple checked that the hotel would actually agree to house a bear for a month, payed the nominal adoption fee, and suddenly I had a furry little son who I'd never met (and didn't realize was bigger than me) and who I would have to wait many more weeks to see! I was already in love with my fluffy puppy. I was sad that he didn't even know yet that he had a mom who adored him, but so excited that he was already a part of our family. Peter's training ended a few weeks before mine, and he made the cross-country trek with Samson crammed in the back of the Jeep to find us all a home in New York.

...and even this picture does not do his true size justice!

I finally met Samson three days before our wedding when I traveled up to NY with my mom to see Peter (and drop my stuff in our newly-rented house). My reaction was the same as most people's when they meet him. I could not believe how BIG he was. Like back-above-my-hips-and-head-at-my-armpit big. Like five-cups-of-food-a-day big. Ginormous. Huge! But such a sweet boy, too. He also had those mega drool-producing jowls like Beethoven in the St. Bernard movie (most days we have an actual reenactment of that famous slobber-flinging scene). That definitely took me awhile to get used to. And boy, was he a frisky puppy! He loved to play chase. He doesn't fetch very well; instead he thinks you should throw the toy then wrestle it away from him. But we bonded quite a bit those first few months by tearing through the house after each other. Our quaint little rental had a circular floor plan with wooden floors, so I would run around the loop with the toy, Samson would skitter after me and slide into the wall on corners, and Peter would wait around the next corner to jump out and tackle him. Or he would put chairs sideways in Samson's path to see how high the poor puppy and his big hips could jump. He was pretty Equestrian there for awhile! Another favorite game of Peter's was funny (but slightly cruel)--the laser pointer. Samson goes nuts trying to catch a flies, and, as we found out, will do the same trying to catch the reflection of a watch or ring on the wall or ceiling. So Peter naturally got out the laser pointer to try, and it was all over. He actually made Samson run full-speed into the wall.. Not recommended, but unbelievably hilarious all the same.

I actually found some forgotten footage of The Laser!

(Feel free to ignore my laughing and snorting)

These Days...

My snuggle buddy!

Protecting the House: Samson has slowed down a bit over the years but is still the same wonderful buddy he's always been. His post-puppy personality is sometimes playful, mostly mellow, and always watchful. These days he's know as Samson, Samsonator, Ramsonator, Snow Nose, Frisky Puppy, or Sniffer, and his tag line is "I will protect this house!" He sounds like a grown man moving around the house, snores just as loudly as one, and gives me the most wonderful sense of security in my own home...even if it means scaring the living daylights out of the poor florist who attempts to deliver flowers and is met with a snarling, towering white beast on the other side of the door with flailing front paws that reach above a grown man's head. But it's in Samson's blood, and he's just doing his job. Great Pyrenees are originally from the mountainous (Pyrenees) region between France and Spain. (Aside--I actually saw a Great Pyr when I was in that region of France in 2011 and struck up a conversation with the owners in French!). Pyrs are bred to be livestock guardians, so they are known for their loyalty and ability to protect their family from predators...whether it's a family of sheep, cows, humans, or whatever a Pyr happens to be corralling at the time. So Samson, by nature, patrols our perimeter with a great sense of duty. His watch is marked by a deep throaty bark that will warn anyone within ten miles--be it the resident squirrel, the UPS truck, or the kid trying to ride his bike down the street--to steer clear. (He keeps coyotes away from the fence too!). And if the doorbell rings, watch out. But as soon as you're inside the house and approved of by Mom or Dad, he'll greet you with gusto, gladly welcome you part of his flock to protect...and bring you a nice slobbery toy to play with. Maybe slime your outfit too. Mmm.

Reunited! Peter's first day of R&R from 

Afghanistan in 2009 and the first time 

these guys had seen each other in 9 months!

With the Kids: Samson is--get this--afraid of babies. Yep. The day we brought newborn Marie home from the hospital, he sniffed her all over, flinched when she touched his nose, and then sprinted to the other end of the house to cower in the corner. He's had much more exposure now, and will give the diaper a passing sniff of interest, but if that baby so much as wiggles a tiny finger in his general direction, he is outta there with a leap and a bound before you can say Scardy Cat. Deep down though, I realize that he's probably just really smart and knows exactly what's up as he finds his own quiet space away from the little crazies. He keeps a healthy distance from toddlers, and thankfully these days Ethan is respecting that distance as well. But as the kids have grown, namely Marie, Samson has started to interact with them so much more. He will bring his toys to her and she loves to run around the house playing with him. It's also her job to feed him, which I think has solidified their bonding experience...I've even caught the fluffy protective big brother sleeping at the foot of his little sister's bed a few nights. It's one of the sweetest things I've ever seen.  But regardless of the rug rats' ages, Samson still does his duty to protect his whole 'flock' -- even if it means maintaining a safe distance behind the child gate while keeping a watchful eye.

Playing with little sis!

In the Snow: Samson LOVES snow. He will frolic in it to his heart's content whether someone's out there to frolic with him or not. His friskiest moments by far are brisk mornings when snow has just fallen. He'll scamper out, eat snow off the table and chairs outside (hence the Snow Nose), then find a ball or toy and toss it in the air ten to 15 times while running around in circles. Then he'll try to bring all of his crazy friskiness back in the house. He'll occasionally chase his tail in these moments, too--always good for a laugh. And is he ever built to move in the snow. He looks a little goofy running on dry ground, but when we used to get four feet of snow at a time in NY, he would bound effortlessly over it like a Jack Rabbit while Peter would wade through helplessly and lose all of their wrestling matches.

Snow Nose!

Family snow day with four feet of snow!

The only time I've ever seen Samson struggling 

...and he still moved faster than us!

Workin' it Out: Samson is not one for much structured exercise. He loves a good walk, but after a few blocks he's content to come in and flop on the floor. The few times I've taken him for a run, I've had to gasp for air as he outruns me for the first half mile, then drag him the rest of the way because he's so tuckered out. And we all know how (not) fast I run. Peter took him for a run once shortly after moving to NY, and only made it a mile before Samson stopped, yacked on the side of the road, and refused to go any further. It appears Samson and I share the same sentiments about long distance. He will follow his nose for miles on his own, though. It's part of that instinctual patrolling of the perimeter and protecting livestock. If he does not have a perimeter, and if he is not on a leash, he will just keep going (and going and going like the Energizer Bunny). If Samson escapes his perimeter, he will purposely evade capture and we know we have to hunt him down immediately or he could make it to the next state without ever considering turning around and coming home. Thankfully, seeing an enormous huge white polar bear-ish thing walking through the yard generally makes people's eyes bug out, and we get a call pretty quickly if we haven't tackled him ourselves already.

Samson Sphynx

Getting Checked Out: Speaking of walks and people's eyes bugging out, Samson attracts a lot of attention no matter where he is. If we're on a  walk, people will literally stop their cars in the middle of the road to roll down the window ask what kind of dog he is. They will come out of their houses, call the neighbors, leave the ball field, and just flock to wherever we are to see the monstrous white dog. The standard comments usually involve one or more of the adjectives 'bear, polar bear, lion, pony, or horse', and usually a question of whether or not we have a saddle for him and if the kids can can 'ride that thing.' (Answer: no, our children do not need to do any more damage to their poor puppy's hips!). Meanwhile Samson has no idea why all these people are staring at him. He just wants them to keep patting his head and scratching behind his ears. Or get off of that darn bike before he takes them down. Although bear or lion definitely could describe him, we prefer to think of Samson as simply regal-looking.  Especially when he's running through the yard with the wind blowing his through his white mane--or sitting majestically like a canine sphynx as he guards his kingdom.

Zzzzzz: Most of the time though, Big Boy Samsonator is content to just sleep. Pretty much 18 hours a day. 70% of the time you wouldn't even know he's there...or you'd mistake him for a nice white bear rug stretched across the room. We often  joke (okay, half-joke) that we want to be him so we can sleep that much. But in all fairness, he does spend a good deal of the night on duty patrolling the house, too--and alerting us with his big loud bark to any and everything that goes bump in the night. Usually it's annoying, but a few times I have been ever so thankful--like the night this past summer when someone tried to break into Peter's Jeep (which we've learned to no longer park in the driveway) and Samson about took out our window making sure the crazy person ran far, far, far away.

Snuggling his plush cow-the biggest toy we could find

So there you have it--the tale of Samson 'Jaguar' Hjelmstad! Guard Dog and Hypersomniac in one, Celebrity Pup and Polar Bear look-alike, and most notably our lovable snuggle buddy and fabulous footwarmer! I'm so glad we found him...and also glad that we didn't decide to get two of him at the same time (seriously, what were we thinking?!) We love you, pup!

Samson: 5
Peter: 0

Best friends for life