The Peanut Butter Jelly and the Boxer

Dogs.

They're great.

A few canines have been there for me at select times in my life and an entire host of others have wandered in here and there. Call me a dog lover, dog's best friend, or what have you. However you decide to dice it, I have a natural affection for the furry hunks of meat and they have an instinctual love for me. Could be my scent because I am rather musky,

There's a story I know of a dog -- a dog and a boy. This particular young male loved his family dog. It was a beautiful Boxer with floppy ears and a face that could melt Genghis Khan's cold heart. His majesty required a name of mammoth proportions. Hercules? Zeus? Big Sweet Dog? No. He was destined to be named Samson.

Samson and the boy got along like gambling and debt. Since the boy was too young to attend school, and his family had other things to attend to, he spent most of his time with that beloved dog. They would lie next to each other and talk for hours about sports, news, and other typical conversation topics inlcluding funny places to defecate. Before anyone knew it, Samson and the boy were best friends. They would take turns seeing who could scoot across the carpet the furthest on their anus, pee all over the place when they were excited, eat cats, clean themselves -- you name it. Gambling and debt, I tell you. Gambling and debt.

Of course, that's not to say that their relationship was never tested. I mean, come on. There's an unimaginable amount of problems with relationships between humans. Now imagine an inter-species relationship. Don't mess your pants trying to think about it but get a good mental picture.

One time, the boy was walking his four-legged friend around the block as per usual. However, on the home stretch back to base camp, Samson spotted a feline. Now the boy was smaller in stature than said boxer. So when Samson took off, the boy, who had the leash wrapped multiple times around his small wrist, had no choice but to follow. Bouncing outstretched on the asphalt like a skipping stone, the boy cried out as Samson picked up the pace. He finally gave up and stopped in front of their home. After slowly standing up with tears streaming, the boy solemnly walked the dog to the house. The boy's parents ran outside, for they had heard the cries. Father took the dog while Mother brought the boy inside. After finishing washing up the boy in a hot bath and plucking out bits of asphalt and gravel embedded in the boy's young skin, Father took the boy to the garage. He said that Samson had done something terrible and needed to learn a lesson; needed to be disciplined. The boy did not want to hit his friend or enforce any other kind of punishment because he knew it wasn't Samson's fault. With even more tears than before, the boy reluctantly spanked Samson with the lightest of taps. The boy felt terrible.

A time later, the boy sat in the backyard enjoying the summer's late morning sun and an ideal meal: one peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a serving of potato chips, and a cold glass of apple juice. Pure Heaven. While dawning a content smile and focusing his attention somewhere else, Samson silently approached. The boy was enjoying "the perfect bite" with eyes half closed and pointed in the opposite direction of the fulfilling sandwich. He went to take another bite but found his sandwich gone. What? The boy heard a munching behind him. There stood Samson, swallowing the remains of the peanut butter jelly. Had the boy sat the sandwich on the table? Had the dog been so sly as to snag the sandwich right out of the boy's hand? Either way, the delicious early lunch had perished. The boy was angry because he was a chubby boy and he found great joy in the art of consuming food -- particularly sandwiches. He yelled at Samson, saying dreadful things. But he couldn't control his fat rage. After the verbal abuse, he ventured inside and ordered a replacement entree from Mother. It was bigger, better, and unforgettable. The boy forced the dog to watch him enjoy every last bite. That would show the thief.

The boy felt terrible a few hours later and apologized to Samson, explaining how he had not meant the loud insults and that he would never consciously and maliciously titillate the dog again. Friends again. Best friends.

The dog got older and you can guess what happened. He got creamed by a speeding automobile. Utter macabre. The boy was devastated. He grieved for times, time, and a half a time. What? He reflected on the abundance of good times that the two had experienced. The world they shared, the one that no one else knew, was forever gone. It was a good run but the boy knew that nothing in this world is forever.

Making use of the untimely death, the boy learned a few things. He learned that the ones you love will hurt you. It could be unintentionally, physically, or in some other way. The boy learned that those you love may be responsible for taking things that belong to you: food, money, your heart. But most of all, the relationship with Samson taught the boy that true love means being able to forgive wrongs, apologize, reconcile, and make it work at any cost -- even if it means ditching one's pride and taking the blame. This boy went went on to experience a much fuller life while finding intense satisfaction in his truly meaningful relationships. And he owes it all to Samson -- the dog that was more than a pet and more than a friend.