Due to overwhelming response, Samson Doggie is going to add a new “category.” Existing categories include
“Shouldn’t have happened.”
“Actually Happened”
“Telling it Like it Is”
and “Hit Bull, Win Steak.”
The new name will be chosen by readers. There are five choices:
drum roll…
The winner will be announced shortly.
I knew one thing: I didn’t want to waste my summer sitting behind a desk, hoping for a big chance to write a draft of a constituent letter for Congressman. I knew I didn’t want to deliver Chivas in the Dirksen Office Building for a hyper Cuban ex-pat with a grudge. I knew that I didn’t want to work for the “Electronic Industries Alliance,” or the “National Association of Corn Extruder Processors,” or the “Americans for Responsible Recreational Access.”
After two years living in Washington, DC, I knew that those jobs did exist, and that plenty of absolutely bored people got totally snockered at a K Street happy hour after working there. Then they stumbled onto a Farragut West metro and fall asleep in Falls Continue reading
I suppose it was a futile endeavor to put me in a football uniform. When I think of 7th grade, I remember how my height and weight flat lined. Around me, boys were growing, sprouting mustaches, stinky sweat, and cracking voices.
It made no sense that I would play football. But, playing football tempted me. I already loved the sport. I spent many Sundays watching professional players beat each other up. Like any childhood sporting fascination, my interest was partially focused on the costumes. In football, the players strutted in muddy pants. There was grass stuck in their face masks. The lineman left the field with blood dripping through the athletic tape on their knuckles.
Still, I was less than 98 pounds, less than even a standard weakling. I was certain, though, that if I could get into pads and stretch a nice blue jersey over my new neck brace, that I would be a terror just like my Sunday heroes.
To get a uniform of my own, I had to go to Mr. “Tortoise’s” room for some “issue.” Mr. Tortoise was about 5’2″ and 180 pounds. He had a booming New Hampshire accent and he Continue reading
Eight years passes in no time.
Enough to hold two lifetimes.
And parts of two more.
We will always have Marshall.
My children, just rough fabric for now, hold my dreams.
I dream that they will remember.
The winters are not long.
Samson Doggie
Samson Doggie 
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