Room(s) of Requirement 

We adopted a new name for the spare room formerly named “junk.”  It’s a more positive view of that room and its contents, a reflects a willingness to share.  (more on giving, Wopila)

 It has, among other things produced —

Stationery and ink pens for Moriah and Robin for camp and school,

A shoulder bag for Alan Portman’s  new Tablet, (though we had to branch out to the kitchen stash of more recent bags to find one that exactly met his size specifications)

Some fabric, piles of yarn . . .

Books and tapes and much miscellany.

. . .  and currently, if anyone needs AAA batteries,  I seem to have bought too many, so come on over . . .


 (photo: Mary in the doghouse)

Here’s my dad’s story of a doggie version of that miscellany . . .

Sam the Pup  by “Daddy John” Fussner

Early one morning just as Dough Doughy was sitting down to a nice hot breakfast of hot cakes, bacon, eggs, milk, orange juice, and coffee, he heard a noise at the kitchen door.  Something was whining and scratching, trying to get in!

“What is making that noise?” asked Dough Doughy as he pushed his chair back from the table.  He went over and opened the door, and there stood a small puppy, about ten weeks old.  It was thin, long-legged, big-footed, flop-eared, and crooked-tailed, and its coat looked like it had been made out of left-overs.  Dough Doughy picked up the pup and closed the door.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” asked Dough Doughy.

“I don’t know, but you name it, and you can have it,” laughed his wife.

“Why, madam,” replied Dough Doughy jestingly, “’tis easy to see that he could rightfully have but one name.”

“And what would that noble name be?” asked his loving wife as she placed a small pan of milk on the stove to warm.

“Sam, of course,” answered Dough Doughy.  “It is plain to see that he is a mixture of all breeds, just as the U.S.A. is a mixture of all races of people.  Therefore, I think we ought to name him after our good old Uncle Sam. In looks he seems to have picked up the worst traits of all the breeds, but perhaps he has the best of all the breeds between those two floppy ears of his.”

“Let’s hope he does have a brain,” remarked his wife as she gave Sam a bowl of the warm milk.  “He sure doesn’t have a surplus of good looks.”

Sam was just a pup, no more, no less, a pup that was just there one cold morning.  No one knew or was ever to find out where he came from.  Sam was not a prize-winner for looks when he was a pup, and he didn’t improve any as he grew older.

His feet, though far too big when he was a pup, seemed to be in a race to see which of the four could grow the fastest.  Not to be out-done, his legs seemed to be trying to get as far away from those big feet as they could.  Nobody, but nobody could remember a dog with longer legs.  It was decided that he had the legs of a greyhound, with a few changes.  His feet could only be from the St. Bernard, the large dog of the Alps, which has large feet to help it walk on snow.

His looks surely didn’t improve as your eyes took in the details of his body!  Sam was broad-chested, much like the bull dog.  The length of his body looked as if it was measured for a dachshund, the little sausage dog.  For Sam, it did add a little more space between his long front legs and his longer rear legs, but not nearly enough.  His long rear legs were always trying to pass his front legs.  His front legs acted as if they didn’t even know the back lags, and Sam’s big feet were forever getting all tangled up, tripping him.

Sam’s ears, long when he was small, acted as if they were afraid of being so high off the ground.  The faster Sam’s legs grew, raising Sam higher and higher, the longer his ears grew, reaching in vain for the floor.  Soon they were so long that they would overlap if held together under Sam’s short, fat neck.  While every other part of Sam was running a race, Sam’s neck seemed to stop growing.

Sam’s tail was long, slim, and crooked when he was a pup.  It stayed long, slim, and crooked as he grew.  As for his skin, it looked as if it was a hand-me-down coat.  Take a small three-year-old boy, dress him in his large five-year-old brother’s clothes, and that’s Sam.  No doubt about it, someone in Sam’s family tree was a big, sad-eyed, loose-skinned bloodhound.   Sam’s color, though, was not of that ancestor.  It looked as if Sam’s color came from all of his ancestors at least as far back a Noah’s ark, with a few odd bits picked up from other sources.

It was Sam’s eyes that really were Sam, for the eyes are the windows of the soul.  Sam’s eyes were bright, intelligent, alert, and had a proud, sad look.  Sam’s eyes saw everything, and his brain was a thing of wonder, always alert, always coming up with the right answer, always doing the right thing.  It was only when the body received the command from the brain that things went wrong.  Even the most intelligent, alert brain in the world couldn’t cope with the body poor Sam was stuck with.  For instance, when the brain asked for a burst of speed, Sam’s legs responded like a greyhound’s, but four big feet would trip him, and over and over rolled Sam.

Sam had a normal puppyhood.  He soon learned to bring his master his evening paper, house slippers, and other items.  However, it took Sam a long, long time to learn not to chew on house slippers, newspapers, furniture, and many other items.  For chew he must!  A young puppy’s teeth are growing and need to be used.

At long last he was taught to act as a dog should act around the home.  Dough Doughy was very proud of his dog, Sam.  As he said, “Sam has the best of all the dogs in his family tree, but,” he added, “’tis a shame it was a nut tree.”

More of Dad’s stories at


4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Tamara Narayan
    Apr 21, 2014 @ 13:05:39

    Ha! That’s great. I (unfortunately) have 2 rooms of requirement in my basement, plus drawers and cabinets of requirement throughout the house. Then there’s the garage . . .


  2. kelworthfiles
    Apr 21, 2014 @ 17:55:24

    Cool! I loved the idea of the Room of Requirement in Hogwarts, and I’m actually running low on storage space in my apartment–but then, I’m a pack rat and hate to throw things out. 😉 Nice to meet you.


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