Murphy

Murphy's leg hung loosely, it would obviously never improve. The six month struggle to get that leg healthy had gradually come to this. The cortisone shot the vet gave her two weeks earlier had no affect, even after we restarted her pills, which was to be the last resort. The last two days were hard; her hoarse whines and constant barking meant pain.

Murphy was yet another change in a year that was filled with change: a new marriage, a first house, a dog...then another dog. She was the second dog to join our young family. Needy and neurotic, Murphy demanded more attention than three dogs deserved. She was the perfect example of the saying, "the squeaky wheel gets the grease." Still, she became part of the family and Murphy and Reggie became affectionately known as "the girls."

The children and Amy said goodbye to her after breakfast. Taylor sat by Murphy as the emotion built and tears came. Dylan tried to feel sad; wanted to feel sad. Mackenzie, only 3 years old, kept repeating, "Murphy is going to die." This made it harder for Taylor. Forty five minutes later, the kids now at school, Amy at work, I'm alone with Murphy. I lift her into the car and we leave for the vet.

So many memories...the neighbor kids coming over to play with the dogs...walking and jogging with "the girls" in a time when Amy and I were able to do this together...playing endless amounts of fetch...black dogs covered in white from tearing about in the deep snow....some days so cold they'd keep a paw off the ground to keep warm...some days so hot they sat, panting, in the shade of our huge cottonwood...

After the first injection Murphy turned toward the door..."I've had my shot now let's go home." This was meant to relax her; to make her go into a comfortable sleep before the killing dose. Eventually she realized we weren't leaving so she hobbled about on her three decent legs as the sedative started to work. After a bit she felt it necessary to flop down, front paws outstretched, barely holding her head up. The vet had left the room, waiting for her to nap. I repeated my goodbyes..."good girl, you'll feel better soon, thanks for being a good dog," and such things probably meant more for me than her. Murphy's breathing relaxed. A humming from the computer in the room was the only other noise.

..."playing" with the bunnies they found in our back yard...chasing around on frozen Lake Minnetonka while the humans played broomball...camping...jumping into bed with us and trying to take it over...exploring the woods around Mac and Kathy's cabin and then cooling off in the lake...scavenging food at our parties...the "girls" had more than 5 years of our undivided attention...

The computer seemed louder. Her breathing had eased further and she slowly glanced left and right as the sedative began to disorient her. I was still repeating goodbyes. Finally, she put her chin down on the tile between her paws.

...dad dying...Amy's dad dying...a miscarriage...deaths of others we cared about...many other painful things...

The computer was now the dominant sound in the room. Every few seconds Murphy's soft exhales created a brief fog on the tile. The vet was still out. "Forgive me for that time I whacked your butt. I knew after I did it that it was wrong." I glanced around to see if her eyes were closed and she lifted her head slightly. Not quite yet. "Thanks for scaring the crap out of that burglar."

...the birth of Taylor...of Dylan...of Mackenzie...Murphy's tail clearing tables or making unfortunate 2 year olds cry in pain after unintentional blows to the face...Reggie running off...Murphy staying close...a new house in Bloomington...the kids from the old neighborhood still coming over, but now as babysitters for our kids, they loved the dogs, and my children...stealing food from little hands...the occasional deer in the back yard sending the dogs off to the races, instinct having taken over...eventually not climbing the stairs or jumping into bed as they became too old (about the time Amy and I approached middle age).

The vet had returned. She wasn't going into a deep enough sleep. I lifted her for the last time, with the help of the vet, onto the table. A quick shave, an IV hooked up and she was sleeping soundly. A touch to the eyelid confirmed this...no reaction. A moment later came the lethal injection. She seemed no different than when she was sound asleep. "She's gone," the vet said. Then as he left, "I'll give you a few minutes." The computer was humming. I didn't really know how to react to my dead dog beside me, or the anticlimactic feeling of the whole process. I was happy she had obviously experienced no pain.

Reggie and Murphy represent a time period in our life. In their beginning Amy and I were young, the dogs were young, we were just married with much to look forward to. The dogs were with us through the most joyful moments and during the most miserable times. They were a part of our life. Each dog was loved in it's own right but the death of each also makes one less witness to many of the important moments in our lives.

Murphy lived to play fetch. If dogs go to heaven then I'm quite certain she's chasing a ball right now. Reggie, who died nearly 2 years ago, is probably in futile pursuit of a whitetail deer.