"Get a puppy."(Kevin Hughes) “What?”

I couldn’t believe what the Therapist had said. I mean I heard the words, but WTF?

“I said: Get a puppy.”

I was a bit upset. Okay, I was very upset. Okay…I was angry. I mean I paid this Lady ungodly sums out of my limited funds to help me straighten my life out…and maybe find love, or at least a girlfriend…and she says: “Get a puppy?” I guess it is a glimpse into my mind and personality as to how I responded …with yet another one word question:

“Why?”

The Therapist Lady smiled at me. It wasn’t a smug smile, or condescending in any way. It was the knowing smile of someone giving you a secret gift that they know you will like.

“Because Mark, you don’t know how to love.”

I blanked out for a second. One of the little men in my brain was running around shouting : “How dare she say that, I don’t care how many Degrees she has.” Another calmer, quieter little man was admitting the truth of her words. That little man won out. I didn’t know how to love. That hurts to find out. But both little men agreed that they had no idea how a puppy was going to help me learn. Once again I spoke up:

“Okay. When?”

She smiled at me knowingly.

“Today. Here is an address (handing me a small piece of paper with a name and address on it.) My friend’s dog just had a litter. There are eight puppies in that littler. If you hurry, you will get there in time for one to pick you. I told her you would come straight away.”

“Pick me…don’t you mean…I pick?”

She actually laughed.

“You don’t know much about dogs…do you?”

I shook my head. She pointed to the door and gave me a command:

“Go!”

I did.

*****

His name is Sampson. I call him Sam when we are alone, but Sampson in Public. I named him that because when I got to Geraldine’s house to choose my puppy (I still naively thought I was the one who picks out which puppy)- he muscled his way through all of his siblings to get to my hand. All the puppies were crowded around my hand, licking and rubbing me. But Sampson, well he bulldozed them all out of the way. Then he climbed up my sweater - not the last article of clothes he would ruin in his efforts to take over my life - merely the first.

I had to pick him up to keep him from tearing the sleeve off of my sweater. He licked my face. Then he tried to crawl down into my shirt. The Therapist was right…he picked me. And boy, am I ever glad. That first night I made a good bed with the little doggy hutch I had bought at Costco. Sampson tore it to pieces. So I threw some blankets on the floor in the kitchen for his bed. He curled up there for daytime, but when nighttime came…well, he popped up onto my bed.

I said:

“No Sampson, no!”

I must have put him back on the floor at the foot of my bed a half dozen times. Each time he found a way to power his way back into my bed. He was only six weeks old, and yet strong enough to pull his whole body up the mattress and box springs to reach me. And yes, that mattress got so torn up that I had to get a new one. I was mad at him for a whole day over that one. It didn’t last …the anger that is. He moped around and gave me those moon eyed stares until I finally relented. He crawled right up onto my lap and went to sleep.

By the end of Winter, he was my Best Friend. Our Spring walks became the highlight of my day. He never got tired of playing. I taught him to “fetch” on command. Or, rather, he taught me to “Throw” on command. At the park he turned out to be quite the frisbee catcher. He would make flying leaps a good four feet off the ground, snap his jaws around the plastic disc and land lightly on his feet. He never missed. Never. No matter how bad my throw was. He could even catch them rolling on the ground because of my sloppy throws.

And that is how I met Alicia.

“Wow, you should enter him in those Frisbee catching tournaments.”

I turned at the sound of a very sweet voice. I didn’t know anyone was standing nearby. Sampson was more than fifty yards away, having just snagged the frisbee out of mid air. He was now happily chewing on it before returning it back to me. He really hadn’t gotten the hang of “Fetch AND return” yet. When I turned I saw the most beautiful girl in the world. She had a small dog with her, maybe a third the size of Sampson. Her dog was ignoring me completely, but watching Sampson with intent.

“What tournaments?”

I know. Kinda clever response, eh? Maybe now you know why I didn’t have many dates…and never a second one.

She pointed to a bunch of dogs on the other side of the park. There must have been a dozen (or more) dogs leaping, soaring, snatching brightly colored discs out of mid air. She spoke again as she pointed:

“Those tournaments. They have them every week. Molly here (pointing to her dog) is too much of a Lady to lower herself to such mundane activities, but she likes to watch them.”

I laughed. She laughed back.

“What’s your dog’s name?”

“Sampson. I call him that because he is so strong.”

She turned and yelled:

“Sampson, here boy. Come!”

My mouth almost dropped open like you see in the movies when someone is really surprised. Sampson lifted his ears, picked up the frisbee and sprinted right to the Lady I was talking with. He went right by me without even so much as a “howdy do.” I was a little miffed, but the surprise weighed down that silliness.

“Good boy!”

Somehow she had simultaneously gotten Sampson to drop the drool covered frisbee, roll over on his belly, and was now rubbing his belly with obvious glee. Sampson's face showed utter joy. His tongue hanging loosely out one side of his mouth. If she slowed her scratches…he reached out with one paw to gently drag her forearm down again for another belly rub. I watched enthralled as she knelt on one knee to get a better stance.

Molly, apparently catching the mood of her Master, glided over to me, rubbing her head against my leg as a signal. I could almost read her mind:

“My Master is giving a belly rub to your dog…you better give me one Buster.”

So, I found myself sitting cross legged on the ground next to a small puppy named Molly, rubbing her belly. Next to me, kneeling on one knee, was a very pretty girl petting my dog. Somehow it didn’t seem strange, weird, or uncomfortable. Then, almost as if they had rehearsed it, both dogs sprung to their feet and raced off into the park. She helped me up, and we went after them. We were laughing so hard we had to stop. Neither of us was in any kind of shape to chase two young dogs going at full speed.

She held onto my shoulder as she caught her breath. I put my hand on her shoulder for support. We were bent over trying to get our wind back from both the exercise and the laughter. I made her laugh again when I said:

“You know, maybe we should just stand here and wait for them to come back…I have bacon.”

I pulled a little baggy out of my pocket. She took it from me.

“Clever man!”

With that, she took a piece of bacon out of the bag and starting chewing on it. She offered my own bag back to me. I took a piece too.

I couldn’t help it. I said:

“That’s supposed to be for the dogs.”

She barked.

I laughed.

The rest, I suppose…is History.

The Therapist was right.

Get a puppy.

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