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There seems to be an ongoing pattern in my life. Apparently it's His will to never let me be happy. I guess I'm fine with that. It's just...Why take away a life to punish me? I can't be that bad of a person. I'm certainly not perfect, but to kill something I hold dear? That's just cruel.

He was just a little, awkward ball of fluff when we adopted him. He barely fit in my hand when I carried him out of the pound. I remember we couldn't decide on a name for him, my little boxer mix that we picked out simply because he had style. In a world where dog ate dog, he just sat back, yawned, and waited for something good to happen. We couldn't settle on one name at first; myself wanting the moniker Colossus while Jose wanted Goliath. We would have decided his name using the time-tested method of a video game decathalon. However with time constraints, we ended up agreeing on Samson, which I then declared was short for Samsonite.

He was such a cute little b*****d. I would use him to talk to girls at the pet store. Of course, once they caught a whiff of me, they decided Sam wasn't so cute anymore(although he really is). In the early days, he would bite everything in sight, from people to furniture. I can't help but think of how he would bite the s**t out of my shoe and stay attached to it while I walked away. We'd tap him on the nose, but he was so damn cute that we didn't do it much. He'd sleep all day and we didn't mind. He'd show us love and constantly try to bite Jose's and my beards.

I wish I took video (as perverse as it sounds) of his first s**t. He had no front leg muscles to prop himself with so making dookie was an uphill battle for him. Later on, when he mastered that art, we introduced him to Bella, the other dog at my other house. She had just gotten off her heat and even tho Sam was only 2 months old, his instincts guided him into what had to be the cutest, if unsuccessful, attempt at mating. After the initial dating period, the two became lifelong friends, often getting into scrapes and roaming the duplex as King and Queen of their castle. I can still see them running together as their 'Wolfpac' of sorts.

Sam also got along with the resident cats. They took him into their circle and initiated him as their own; teaching him how to groom, chase things, and such.

Later in life, Samsonite grew to epic proportions, surpassing Bella, who happened to have a year on him, and quickly establishing himself as the Queso Grande. We would just marvel at his growth; his long legs and tall body. Sam was also good at following orders. He would let us know that he had to go outside to TCB and he'd learned a few of the basic but important tricks early.

As of 1:50 AM this morning of July 2nd, 2008, Samson is no longer with us. He passed away of complications caused by the Parvo virus. It is unknown exactly how he contracted the virus, but it spread quicker than we could anticipate and treat. A few days ago, on Sunday, Sam ate his morning meal and proceeded to vomit the contents of his stomach. He then spent the rest of the day dry heaving.
On Monday, yesterday, when I passed by his cage to let him out, he'd just lie there, as opposed to jumping at the cage door, eager to get out. He had loked severely depressed and almost refused to leave the cage.

After a $200 trip to the vet, it was confirmed that he had the Parvo virus. The vet didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about treating him or his chance of survival. Not wanting to give up, Misti and I came home and started the process of cleaning everything so we could give him a fighting chance.

Sam was so brave in the face of certain doom. At the vet's office, he didn't cry or whimper or even shed a silent tear as the Dr. injected him with the nutrients he'd need to be rehydrated. We had had him isolated in the bathroom, the one place he didn't hang out in much, so we could clean. My little trooper somehow found the strength to jump out of the bathtub so he could do his business outside.

In the end, we stayed with him, holding on to the last vestige of hope that he would make it. His mind was almost gone, we could tell. All we could do was make him comfortable. Some time in the AM hours, I could feel his life force draining away. His head lolled sickly as I picked him up gently to take him outside, his favorite place that always brought him joy. I held him, feeling his breath shorten as he faded slowly. I can still hear his death cry.

I miss my puppy. I never thought I'd be this attached to what some would call a pet. I've never considered Samson to be a pet, but rather a family member. I won't lie and say I didn't cry and I'll dare someone that has lost a loved one to say that they haven't. I loved my Samson and I always will.

And that's all. There is no more.