The Beagle

It wasn't his name. But I used it so often in reference to him that he answered to it anyway. How cool is it for people to say "What a great dog! What's his name?" and I could say "Beagle." and they would say "No, not what kind, what's his name?". I didn't realize that while it would become a proper noun, it would also become a verb. To beagle is to: 1) make obscenely loud noises at something when you are unsure what it is, and/or if it is a threat. 2) do something henious and then act guilty and/or cute until someone forgives you.
3) make obscenely loud noises when you are not getting instant gratification of your desires. In short, make obscene amounts of noise whenever possible. Preferably if people are sleeping. The more inappropriate the better.
  No, it wasn't his name. But it suited him. His name was Sampson Parker. The mighty Sampson. When I met him, he fit in the crook of my arm and tripped over his ears he was so little. But he grew into the regal majesty of his name. With his gold eyes, and little white flag of surrender tail, he charmed the hearts of many. My mother was fond of calling him her "grand-beagle". (Erin and I assumed it was a nice little "nudge" in the direction of acquiring her other beings to be the "grand" of.  I obliged. I provided one dog and two hamsters. Judging by my maternal instincts toward the hamsters,  I think I should stick to things that stare at me if they are hungry but don't require daily changing.)
 As a faithful member of our clan, I had the pleasure of knowing him from his "pee on you because I'm excited and I'm a puppy" phase straight through to his "pee on you because I'm elderly and I'm excited"  phase. He was smart, and caring. Loyal to the very end of his doggy soul. He died today. And we are grieving. The loss of another of our fur babies, I wish I was with my brother right now to hold his hand. Since I know what its like to lose your dog. It doesn't matter if they are 7, 14, or 20. It hurts, and being a world away is even worse. But, he had one helluva trip. In the past year, Sampson has seen more of my family then I have. In fact- if my calculations are correct- I think Sampson might have at this point in my life- met more of my family then I have. This is emphasized by the fact that he was present at a marriage blessing ceremony last month. He was a ceremony crasher... but he was there.
He saw more of the United States in 14 years than I have in 28. He walked with Zoe and I on the beaches of Florida as a youngin', and walked with Mom and Dad on the beaches of Oregon last week. He walked around Mt. Saint Hood, saw the salt flats over Utah, the black hills of South Dakota, and the many faces of California. The Garden State was home for awhile, and off and on so was Pennsylvania. Spent many years in The Lone Star State, and a long with his Dad, found the meaning of Love in South Carolina. It didn't matter to him where he layed his head down. As long as he was with the people he loved. He was home. Well, God called him home today in Colorado, but we carry him where ever we go.
Rest in Peace Mr. B.  I sure look forward to that rainbow bridge visit someday.