The next day

Although shaken by the news the previous night that Sampson was moving into my territory, I was determined to have a good day at the newspaper. This was, afterall, my chance to jump-start a career that had descended into chaos since I was laid off two years ago.

Unemployment and two poor-paying reporting jobs working for micromanagers had put me in this position. I couldn't let 25 years of banging my head against newsroom walls just slip away, even if it meant working as a sports editor in south Texas.

The day started as all days have started recently. The piercing and rapid-fire hooting of an owl jolted me out of slumberland. I then moved ever so slightly, expecting to be either stiff, sore or nearly incapacitated by back pain.

Remarkably, I felt no pain when I shifted from my back to my side even though last night's twinge had left me expecting the worse. After rolling gently out of bed, I found the cell phone and made a call. After several rings, I got the "Hi, it's Stacy's cell phone" greeting and grumbled to myself that she was probably feeding or walking Sampson, the lucky dog.

After a quick breakfast and even quicker shower, I was driving to work marveling at the number of big trucks Texans drive and the even bigger people stuffed into the cabs. It was already hot and humid outdoors and the pace of life reflected that. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion.

No one was moving too fast at the newspaper either, except for the brass who were preparing for the emergency meeting. Then the building came to life as the word spread quickly.

Nine people had been laid off that morning. The rest of us would learn our fates at 2 p.m.

After telling us how valuable we were and that they had hired some top-notch advertising talent, we learned that our pay would be cut anywhere from 5 to 10 percent. My reduction was 6 percent. We also learned our insurance co-pays and deductibles would rise as well.

To the graveside refrain of at least we have a job, a solemn crowd filed out of the meeting without saying hardly a word. What's going to happen next I wondered as I sat down at my computer ready to deal with the sporting needs of Hallettsville, Yoakum, Edna, Cuero and other places I never knew existed until three months ago.

As I checked my e-mail, I noticed that my dear, sweet wife had sent me four e-mails, all with pictures of Sampson.

Sampson: A lucky dog (for now)

I miss my wife every day and our still growing puppy, Sampson, the powerful one with the soft and silky golden locks that inspired his name.

I even laughingly referred to him as the S-factor before my last glimpse of Nevada City was through a rear-view mirror while traveling down Highway 49 one morning in early January.

When I first went to Texas, I thought it was so great that Sampson could be like the man of the house and defend and protect Stacy while I was gone.

It made this long journey a bit more tolerable.

Now, however, I'm starting to have second thoughts. It seems Sampson is moving into my turf.

Just recently, he attended a Foothill Theatre chamber mixer with Stacy and I heard they were among the last one's to leave. Then the photo on this web page surfaced, clearly showing a tender moment between them at the mixer.

And then the other day, while we were talking on the phone, Stacy revealed that Sampson was now sleeping at the foot of our bed, no doubt ever alert to her every movement, no matter how slight.

"He's not actually in the bed is he?" I asked my wife with a notable air of concern.

"Oh, no. There's nothing to worry about," Stacy purred into the phone in a way that made my heart ache with extra desire. "But I'll tell you something, that Sampson is the greatest dog in the world."

Great, I thought, and then I felt a twinge in my back. The kind where you know it's only a matter of time before you'll need help putting your socks on.