“Hey Mom & Dad, it’s your Big Sammy 🐶. Remember my Spencerville adventures? That tennis ball, my irresistible craving for chicken & vanilla cookies, the quirky feud at North Chihuahua Castle. Oh, and my swag! Called me the best-dressed bulldog in town 😉. Boy, do I miss that bone broth at Paws on the Grill. What a life, huh? Fun all the way! Though I did detest the vacuum cleanings and vet visits. It’s a tale worth telling, isn’t it? Just wanted to remind you of our good times. Paws & Loads of Love, Big Sammy 🐾”

Spencerville, a paradise for our dearly departed, four-legged friends. And then there was Sampson. And let me tell you, once you had Sampson in your life, it was a hard-knock and a blessing all in one.

Picture this; a day like any other in Spencerville, Sampson and I loping along the streets, his tennis ball in our sights. His Brindle latch ear wagging comically as he dashes, his white and brindle coat a blur. The day perpetually waits for us there, teetering on the brink of another unparalleled adventure as it does in our darling town.

“There he goes again, bulldozing that basketball like it owes him money,” I mused aloud as Sampson zeroed in on his peculiar yet much-loved sport.

We were a duo — Sampson and I — inseparable and notorious for our escapades. We wandered through the parks, lounged at the Spotted Red Beagle Beach and bantered with our four-legged companions at the Pup-Tizers.

“He hates bananas,” I confided to the pit-pat of paw-steps echoing our arrival at The Fetching Deli when asked for his favourite treat. His wrinkled snout wrinkled up even more at the fruit’s mention. “Give him chicken and vanilla cookies, that’s his Achilles heel.”

The Fetching Deli served their share of kibble and bits, but more importantly, those little vanilla cookies, each a heavenly treat that made his tail wag furiously. And chicken — cooked, roasted, sacked, any which way, Sampson devoured it with a gusto that was legendary.

At Canine Couture Clothing, Sampson’s stubbornness always won the day. Despite his resistance, I would come out carrying a collection of new purchases. “Best-dressed bulldog in town,” they’d call him, thanks to his rich brindle and white attire. He carried it off with a swagger that was a sight to behold.

Venturing further, we’d often fetch up at the North Chihuahua Castle, our very own kingdom where courage, benignity, and a whiff of ignominy were of paramount importance. It was here that Sampson’s legendary feud with the cats was forged and fanned.

In the falling glow of the evening, Sampson, Fat Russell, and I would congregate at Paws on the Grill. Overhearing snippets of our anecdotes, Marley, Fenway and the rest of our fur family joined us creating camaraderie like none other. We dug into the usual bone broths and platters, laughter, and doggy tales as plentiful as the stars above.

Rain or shine, Spencerville thrived under Sampson’s signature blend of bulldog vivacity. He was our mascot, our dog in shining brindle, a staunch symbol of doggy stubbornness, bravery, and boundless love. His legacy is woven into our town’s tapestry, a part of Spencerville as unshakeable and unavoidable as the pawprints he left on our hearts.

Looking back, I’d do it over again. Cross paths with him all over, even knowing the vacuum scares, the ear cleanings, and the detested vet visits beforehand. And why not! For in embracing Sampson, I met my best friend. The bugger had a knack for popping the basketballs, but he had a bigger knack for popping joy into our lives. And that, dear friend, is a tale worth telling.

The End.