Military Dogs, Police Doggers, And A Small Motorcycle

This was Sampson. Pops brought him home when I was about nine. Sampson only had one ball.

Really. The other had never descended.

Samson had been bred to work in the military. To be a military dog, you need balls.

Simply having a ball wasn't enough for the military. That would be like having way too much fun.

My sister got pulled over by a cop once, for having Sampson hooked up with a harness. He was pulling her on my motorcycle, which she had wanted to take across suburban neighborhoods to a field where she could ride around. She had thought that it would be OK to ride the motorcycle on the streets, even though it wasn't street legal, because she didn't have the engine on. Like a bicycle, she figured.

The cop figured differently.

My sister said the cop rode alongside her and Sampson for quite sometime. She said the cop clocked her at twenty-two miles an hour. She said the cop kept smiling at her and talking on his radio. She said the cop pulled her over by flashing his lights and tapping on his siren, giving a woop woop which scared Sampson and made him protective of Sandy. The cop had trouble actually giving her the ticket. Samson growled and barked and gave the cop the what-for. My sister had to walk away from her dog and my motorcycle to be given the ticket and the lecture. I am sure my sister gave the cop something in return as he was leaving. My sister often had balls.

The judge laughed so hard he threw the case out. He thanked my sister for making his day. Pops was glad she got off. He was paying her insurance and was also one of those people who hates being in trouble or having his daughter in trouble.

Samspon was stolen in Grants Pass, Oregon when my sister was seventeen. We never found out what happened to him. For most of his life, though, he had a ball...