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stoutfellowIn 1992, I was awarded tenure. I immediately began looking for a house and, that goal met, I let it be known that I was in the market for a dog.
It had been seventeen years - half my life - since the last time I'd lived with a dog. Until I left for college in 1975, there had almost always been one or more dogs in the house. (There was also usually a cat, but somehow that one didn't take.) To me, dogs were, and are, part of the good life, and now that I had a place for one, I began looking.
In the spring of the following year, one of the department secretaries told me that a friend of hers had a basset who had just whelped, and the puppies needed homes. I went over to look, and selected the runt of the litter. Six weeks later, as soon as he was weaned, I brought him home. I gave him the name "Murphy", for obvious reasons.
I had neglected to ask about the father.
A runt Murphy was; I remember that the second time I took him in, the vet told me that he hadn't been sure he'd make it, but I'd done a good job. He was a fairly quiet pup, though fierce in defense of his home turf. (There is a cloth and papier-maché buffalo on the mantel. I remember the first time Murphy looked high enough to see it. He flinched back, but then began growling furiously at the intruder. It was as big as he was, at the time.) Outside the house, though, he was rather timid. He shied away from other dogs, as well as from... well, most things that moved unexpectedly. Balloons, flags flapping in the breeze, you name it.... One day, while walking him, I spied an elderly and placid-looking basset sitting in the middle of the street, and I led Murphy over to introduce him. Murphy would have none of it. He hid behind me, despite my best efforts. Finally, the old basset decided to take a hand, letting loose one of those full-chested woofs that bassets have. Murphy nearly dislocated my arm.
For the longest time, he didn't bark. One day I brought home a beagle puppy named Simon. I'm not going to talk about Simon - this isn't his story - except to say that he taught Murphy how to bark. Boy, did he....
As Murphy grew, it became clear that he was nowhere near a pureblood. He wasn't quite as heavy-set as a basset, his ears weren't quite as floppy, and his legs were somewhat longer; I eventually came to the conclusion that his father must have been a black-and-tan coonhound. The combination was a little odd looking, but he had a dignity to him.
Murphy loved being chased. I remember once, in the basement, chasing him around and around the boiler. Around and around - until the moment when I glanced to the side and noticed that he was not, in fact, taking part in the game, but rather watching me do laps. Shades of Bugs and Yosemite Sam....
About a year after I brought Murphy home, Ben joined our household. Ben was everything Murphy wasn't: bouncy, not at all timid, and oh-so-friendly. This isn't Ben's story either, but I should mention that it was Ben who brought an end to our chase games. You see, if I chased Murphy, Ben would chase Murphy. And Ben would catch Murphy. And Ben would attack Murphy. Oh, well.
From the beginning, Murphy slept on my bed with me. This began as a defensive measure: if this not-yet-housebroken puppy wanted to get up in the middle of the night, I wanted to know. As time passed, though, it grew to be a comfort. (There were times when Ben tried to join us. We could, all three, fit on the bed, but only if I contorted myself into an S-shape. I brought in a hassock, almost bed-high, and set it nearby for Ben to sleep on instead.)
Once I had the backyard fence put up, I installed doggie doors: one leading from the house to the garage, the other from the garage outside. Since the garage is a foot or so lower than the house, I put a sturdy table on the other side of the inner door, so that Murphy could step through onto that before jumping down to exit through the outer door. Coming home from work, I could count on Murphy and Ben, out in the yard, barking joyously in greeting.
Three or four years ago, Murphy started having trouble with his hindquarters. The first sign came the day he sat down and, for several hours, seemed unable to stand up again. Eventually he stood, but from then on I kept an eye on things. Soon he found it impossible to jump up on the bed, and hard to jump onto the table by the doggie door. I bought two sets of doggie steps and lashed them to the table. Sadly, all this did was postpone the evil day by a few months.
There came a time when Murphy could no longer navigate the doggie doors.
There came a time when, on walks, he would fall down every twenty or thirty feet; then every ten, and every five. Finally, I had to stop taking him for walks.
On the vet's advice, I began adding glucosamine to his food. I saw no improvement, but perhaps it slowed his decline.
The rest of the story... I don't think I need to tell it here. He was a good dog, if occasionally cantankerous and, in his last years, a bit snappish. I can think of several ways I could have been better for him, but even with my mistakes he had a good long run. His leash and collar sit on the mantel now, holding place for a little cedar box. That will come in two or three weeks, with a brass plaque:
It had been seventeen years - half my life - since the last time I'd lived with a dog. Until I left for college in 1975, there had almost always been one or more dogs in the house. (There was also usually a cat, but somehow that one didn't take.) To me, dogs were, and are, part of the good life, and now that I had a place for one, I began looking.
In the spring of the following year, one of the department secretaries told me that a friend of hers had a basset who had just whelped, and the puppies needed homes. I went over to look, and selected the runt of the litter. Six weeks later, as soon as he was weaned, I brought him home. I gave him the name "Murphy", for obvious reasons.
I had neglected to ask about the father.
A runt Murphy was; I remember that the second time I took him in, the vet told me that he hadn't been sure he'd make it, but I'd done a good job. He was a fairly quiet pup, though fierce in defense of his home turf. (There is a cloth and papier-maché buffalo on the mantel. I remember the first time Murphy looked high enough to see it. He flinched back, but then began growling furiously at the intruder. It was as big as he was, at the time.) Outside the house, though, he was rather timid. He shied away from other dogs, as well as from... well, most things that moved unexpectedly. Balloons, flags flapping in the breeze, you name it.... One day, while walking him, I spied an elderly and placid-looking basset sitting in the middle of the street, and I led Murphy over to introduce him. Murphy would have none of it. He hid behind me, despite my best efforts. Finally, the old basset decided to take a hand, letting loose one of those full-chested woofs that bassets have. Murphy nearly dislocated my arm.
For the longest time, he didn't bark. One day I brought home a beagle puppy named Simon. I'm not going to talk about Simon - this isn't his story - except to say that he taught Murphy how to bark. Boy, did he....
As Murphy grew, it became clear that he was nowhere near a pureblood. He wasn't quite as heavy-set as a basset, his ears weren't quite as floppy, and his legs were somewhat longer; I eventually came to the conclusion that his father must have been a black-and-tan coonhound. The combination was a little odd looking, but he had a dignity to him.
Murphy loved being chased. I remember once, in the basement, chasing him around and around the boiler. Around and around - until the moment when I glanced to the side and noticed that he was not, in fact, taking part in the game, but rather watching me do laps. Shades of Bugs and Yosemite Sam....
About a year after I brought Murphy home, Ben joined our household. Ben was everything Murphy wasn't: bouncy, not at all timid, and oh-so-friendly. This isn't Ben's story either, but I should mention that it was Ben who brought an end to our chase games. You see, if I chased Murphy, Ben would chase Murphy. And Ben would catch Murphy. And Ben would attack Murphy. Oh, well.
From the beginning, Murphy slept on my bed with me. This began as a defensive measure: if this not-yet-housebroken puppy wanted to get up in the middle of the night, I wanted to know. As time passed, though, it grew to be a comfort. (There were times when Ben tried to join us. We could, all three, fit on the bed, but only if I contorted myself into an S-shape. I brought in a hassock, almost bed-high, and set it nearby for Ben to sleep on instead.)
Once I had the backyard fence put up, I installed doggie doors: one leading from the house to the garage, the other from the garage outside. Since the garage is a foot or so lower than the house, I put a sturdy table on the other side of the inner door, so that Murphy could step through onto that before jumping down to exit through the outer door. Coming home from work, I could count on Murphy and Ben, out in the yard, barking joyously in greeting.
Three or four years ago, Murphy started having trouble with his hindquarters. The first sign came the day he sat down and, for several hours, seemed unable to stand up again. Eventually he stood, but from then on I kept an eye on things. Soon he found it impossible to jump up on the bed, and hard to jump onto the table by the doggie door. I bought two sets of doggie steps and lashed them to the table. Sadly, all this did was postpone the evil day by a few months.
There came a time when Murphy could no longer navigate the doggie doors.
There came a time when, on walks, he would fall down every twenty or thirty feet; then every ten, and every five. Finally, I had to stop taking him for walks.
On the vet's advice, I began adding glucosamine to his food. I saw no improvement, but perhaps it slowed his decline.
The rest of the story... I don't think I need to tell it here. He was a good dog, if occasionally cantankerous and, in his last years, a bit snappish. I can think of several ways I could have been better for him, but even with my mistakes he had a good long run. His leash and collar sit on the mantel now, holding place for a little cedar box. That will come in two or three weeks, with a brass plaque:
Murphy
1993-2008
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no subject
Date: 2008-07-26 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-26 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-26 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-26 10:17 pm (UTC)I for one am going to miss your posts about him.
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Date: 2008-07-26 11:50 pm (UTC)Love, C.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-27 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-27 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-27 10:23 pm (UTC)Re: Eulogy
Date: 2008-07-28 12:53 am (UTC)I speak canine with a beagle accent, but I trust Murphy would understand.
Re: Eulogy
Date: 2008-07-28 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-28 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-28 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-28 07:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-28 10:48 am (UTC)*hugs* What a beautiful post. Thanks for sharing your love for Murphy with us. *more hugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-07-28 05:44 pm (UTC)Condolences
Date: 2008-07-29 01:09 am (UTC)Claire (quiet person on the Bujold list)