Sampson Lee O'Neil

Sampson L. O'Neil, the blue heeler puppy, deserved nothing but coal for Christmas this year. The following is a truncated list of why:

1. Sam has a penchant for carrying underwear outside in the backyard. One can look out the back window and catch glimpses of bright striped boxer-briefs and pink polka dot panties strewn across the landscape.

2. Sam ate not one, but two of his PeopleMom's shoes. Not just any old shoes, but two pair that were in the Top 5 of Favorites.

3. Sam STILL goes tinkle on the carpet in the case of an emergency. In Sam's book, the long trip up the staircase, cold air outside or a deep nap constitute an emergency, causing him to potty on the carpet.

4. Sam likes to play with the kitties, but this version of "play" is only considered "play" by Sam. To everyone else, it's a regular beatdown.

5. Sam eats ALL of the cat food EVERY DAY. Someone must have told him that the kitty's room is the Golden Corral, because he indulges in the buffet every single day.

Santa must be distracted, though, because he brought Sam a big chewy bone and a stuffed hedgehog that squeaks/oinks/grunts. In spite of baby Sambo's bad habits, no one, not even Santa, can be upset with him. When he wags his whole body when you come home and jumps little baby jumps in an attempt to reach your face with his Gene Simmons-like tongue, you forget all about being mad. Even when you were mad on behalf of your favorite black pumps.

On Not Wearing Pants.

An old buddy of mine asked: "Who Needs Pants, Anyway?" Well. To my friend David: All people need pants. This is an official ruling from the Boulder County Sheriff's Office....

One spring, I joined my family in the annual Southern Utah Camping Trip. A tradition for years, it was unthinkable to consider missing such an event, even though it was an 8-hour drive from Denver. We had a fantastic time, the weather was beautiful and I fell in infatuation with a boy (who later turned out to be a total waste of human tissue. Anyway. Moving on.) Alas, in my state of infatuation, I sustained a wretched sunburn on my legs. I mean, seriously terrible. When the day came that we had to go home, I bid goodbye to my Precious (jackass) and climbed in the car for the long ride home. It was a long and miserable ride, indeed. I was hot and I was cold, stinging and itching.

When we arrived home in Littleton, I still had to face the prospect of another hour in the car as I drove to my own home in Boulder. A fresh stack of clean laundry and some food pilfered from my mom's pantry, I set off. I didn't even make it to Yale before my legs demanded fresh air and freedom from the denim that encased them. Seriously. Demanded. In my very own crafty way, I quickly stripped and sang the Hallelujah Chorus for my abused and beleaguered leg-skin. I basked in the freedom until I saw them....the flashing lights in my rear-view mirror. Apparently, my jubilation had translated to my lead-foot and I had been speeding. Frankly, this was no big thing. In those days, getting pulled over was a common occurance. In fact, I felt that something was missing if I went a single month without a gentle reprimand, a gruff rebuff, or even the occasional monetary scolding.

This, however, was a problem. I had no pants on. I was quite sure that this was going to be an issue. In my flustered state, I grabbed a fluffy-soft towel from the seat beside me and placed it on my lap. In such a state, it's no wonder that the officer noticed my nervousness and asked me to step out of the vehicle. My response, "Um, no." probably wasn't what he was expecting. Finally, I just had to tell him the whole situation, letting him know that I think that standing in my skivvies on the side of the freeway probably constitutes the breaking of a whole different law.

However, it worked out great because he laughed at me and let me go with a stern warning that covered speeding and public nudity.