I knew I was going to have to write this someday, I guess I just didn’t think it would be today. I always thought it would be tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or next year. But sadly, after over a decade, I ran out of next years, next months, next weeks, and tomorrows. Someday finally became today.
As they say, every dog has its day. So too, in fact, does every person. However, I don’t mean this in the usual sense of the expression. What I mean is that all those who we love, pets and people alike, come into our lives for a finite time. During this time, we bond with them, we share experiences with them, and we make memories with them. But, as sure as dawn turns to dusk, our time with the ones we love is always fleeting. Although the sun eventually sets, the memories of the day last forever. Nothing can take them away from us. With that, here are a few of ours.
2012
Adopting Murphy was a hard-fought battle spearheaded by Tori, with multiple trips to the Whisker Wagon and an old lady who tried to snatch Murphy right from under our noses. I was at a UB diner the weekend of Sep 14, 2012, when Tori texted me “we’re getting him.” I didn’t really believe it at first and in acknowledging that we had attempted a few dogs in the past, I didn’t think much of it.
I got picked up and we got to meet him at the shelter. He was introduced to us as Uno, the name that the staff at the shelter assigned him, but we had already settled on Murphy. He was docile and shy. He sniffed us and mozied around the lawn, certainly not foreshadowing the bold character we would come to know and love. We took him on his first walk in the neighborhood and he refused to drop the rope bunny he had been given at the shelter. He was too cute.
It didn’t take long for Murphy to adapt to his new surroundings. He started doing role call in the mornings by busting down the doors to our rooms to check that we were still there. The last person out of bed always ended up with an extra guest.
2013
As Murphy settled in, his true colors began to shine. One thing we quickly discovered was that he loved walks. After a certain point, we had to start spelling out “w a l k” in everyday conversation because at the sound of the word, he would rally the troops with barks and pushes. Once he was out in the woods, there was no corralling him. He wouldn’t listen when called even when treats or cold cuts were offered. He was a mountain goat with its ass on fire. The sound of squeaking chipmunks drove him wild; he would chase them down barking, clawing, and biting, even biting the bark off trees. He terrorized the woods relentlessly.
2014
Murphy’s favorite season was unquestionably winter. He never seemed to mind the cold and wouldn’t hesitate to scoop up a mouthful of snow when sprinting about. When the weather was cool, he seemed to have infinite energy. This year, winter came early, and Murphy got to experience his first true Buffalo snowstorm. Snowfall totals exceeding 4 Murphys were recorded.
2015
Murphy was the guardian of our property, continuously paying watch to all who came and went, animals and people alike. He was not fond of trespassers, especially the squirrels and rabbits. He kept watch over the backyard from his perch on the family room couch and over the front yard from the living room shays. At the sight of a trespasser, he sounded the alarm. When let outside, he triumphantly ran them off the property with a charge, a bark, and a puffed-out chest. Murphy never backed down, not even a deer ten times his size could intimidate him.
2016
Although Murphy was generally fearless, he did have his kryptonite: loud noises. Thunderstorms and fireworks had him looking cuter than ever. He would oftentimes hide under the bed, in the closet, or even in the cupboard!
2017
Although Murphy was far from earning his certification as a therapy dog, he was there when I needed him most. When Mike passed away, I spent quite a bit of time in my room. I would lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling or out the window. Murphy would nose open the door and hop onto my bed to sit with me. He kept watch out the window and over the doorway. I’m infinitely grateful for the time I spent with him in the latter part of 2017, especially our walks at the neighborhood nature trail where I could revisit some areas that held significant childhood memories.
2018
Although Murphy didn’t particularly enjoy hugs or being held, he put up with quite a bit and was always a good sport. He was the key feature in many of our family photos and even occasionally dressed up (against his will) for the holidays. Six years in and Murphy maintained his youthful edge, running down chipmunks and guarding the yard.
2019
Murphy was never a fan of warmer weather, and as time wore on, we had to make sure not to overexert him as his heat sensitivity grew. Fortunately, Buffalo has a gigantic natural air conditioner located just to its west called Lake Erie. When the weather warmed, walks along the waterfront provided a nice cool breeze to keep him comfortable. He enjoyed the smells and views at the Outer Harbor, which we added to our usual repertoire of Chestnut Ridge, the nature trail, and Birdsong. Murphy was usually pretty well behaved, but he sometimes fell to the temptation of the food we had in the pantry.
2020
Murphy’s adventures on the water continued in 2020 when he and I took our first boat ride together. At first, he was a bit wary and even tried to jump overboard! Eventually he gained his confidence and was happy to nap at the bow while we coasted along. With the pandemic in full-swing, I was able to spend quite a bit more time at home with Murphy, and I’m grateful for the company he provided while we were all in lockdown.
2021
Murphy always hated when we left and loved when we came home. In both instances, he would watch us from the window in the foyer near the front door. Upon departure, he would stare sullenly out the window. Upon arrival, he would bark in the window, and as we entered the garage and went inside, he barked and clawed at the mud room door. When released, he would run at us, jump on us, bark at us, then run out the door to check for anyone else. Nobody will ever be as happy to see me as Murphy was when I would home after he had spent the day alone. His favorite person was my dad; sometimes he’d shoot right past me looking for dad then circle back for the consolation prize. I always looked forward to the warm welcome he would give me on Friday evenings after making the drive back home from Corning.
2022
Ten years in and time began to leave its mark on Murphy. He became quite sensitive to the heat, and we had to cut our walks shorter, especially on warm summer days. He also became much less interested in running around the woods to chase animals like he used to. Now, he primarily stuck to the trail without straying far. He also began foregoing jumps onto my bed in the morning and would sometimes spend the day laying quietly between the couch and the end table. We were no longer pushed around before walks or barked at when coming home. As the year progressed, he came to the door to greet us less and less frequently. His cough also worsened, a cough I only started hearing maybe a year prior when I was harnessing him for walks. He became whiter and slower. Winter was at the doorstep.
2023
Murphy’s bold, energetic, and youthful character that we had come to know, love, and expect continued to fade. I was able to spend the holiday break with Murphy, mostly indoors due to the Blizzard of ’22 and subsequent cold weather. However, the Murphy I now saw was no longer the Murphy I once knew. He didn’t hang around with us much and spent considerable time under the bed upstairs. His cough was quite bad, loud enough at night to wake me up from an adjacent room through two closed doors. He even stopped barking for treats when being let out. He was white and slow. Getting up and down the stairs was a burden now, and he had to bunny hop most of the time. Winter had taken hold.
My last visit with Murphy was around April 20, when I was home for my birthday. Murphy was in pretty rough shape. I could no longer chase him or play like we once used to. Petting and hugs were sometimes enough to send him into a coughing fit. He spent most of his time laying on the floor. He hardly wagged his tail or visibly showed enthusiasm, but I do remember him nosing open Tori’s bedroom door the morning after she flew in to surprise me for my birthday.
I walked Murphy every day that I was home for break. He managed his walks reasonably well, but his behavior was in stark contrast to the Murphy of 2013. I tried to make the most of the time I had with him during this visit, but I left thinking I would get to see him one last time, failing to abide by one of life’s most important rules.
My parents kept me updated throughout the coming weeks. Murphy’s condition deteriorated quite rapidly in late May. I FaceTimed him and he was largely unresponsive, laying and staring, only offering signs of life through his cough. He could hardly be roused with treats or cold cuts. It was difficult to see the bold, vibrant, fearless, energetic Murphy I once knew reduced to a shadow of his former self.
As a family, we discussed how we would like to honor Murphy if he was put to sleep. At first, I had no opinion but after some thought, I knew letting the vet keep the body was out of the question. Cremation was a reasonable option, but I thought it would be more appropriate to honor Murphy with a burial in the yard that he guarded for the past ten years.
My parents consulted the vet on Saturday, May 27. My dad had to carry Murphy into the vet’s office in his bed. The vet explained that the fluid buildup around his heart and lungs had worsened since his last visit a few months prior. The recommended treatment option was to continue his water pill as my parents had been doing over the past several months.
Given Murphy’s rapid deterioration and low quality of life, continuing the current treatment regimen and prolonging his burdensome existence was not a rational path forward. My parents called me in via FaceTime at the vet’s office and I got see Murphy one last time. I told him that I loved him, and I thanked him for the memories he gave me, though it was hard to get the words out.
My parents gave me the option to stay on the line while they put Murphy to sleep. At first, I thought there was no reason to see it, but upon further introspection, I recognized that this aversion stemmed from my fear of the uncomfortable emotions I knew I would face, and I knew it was wrong for me to abandon him at the very end. Instead of running like a coward, I decided to take it on the chin.
Seeing Murphy laying there in his bed, panting and looking around frantically was borderline unbearable. Obviously, there was no way to explain to him what was happening, and I think this made it particularly difficult for me. He was a small, scared animal in a compromised physical state at the mercy of a bunch of big people standing around him. I watched as the vet administered Murphy’s injection. His eyes closed and his head gently slumped as he fell into his eternal sleep.
My parents honored Murphy with a burial in the yard. They planted a flower above where he lay. Perhaps someday what was once Murphy will give rise to new life, be that new life a plant, an insect, or even another animal.
Reflection
The past decade has been a wild ride. I started and completed my undergraduate education, earned my master’s degree, started my first real job, left my first real job, started graduate school, lived away from home for the first time, bought and restored a boat, lost one of my best friends, caught a bunch of fish, and celebrated my 21st birthday, among other things. Tori attended two universities, earned her degree, became a nurse, celebrated both 18 and 21, and made a new life for herself in two different cities while my dad sold his pharmacy after nearly twenty years of operation. I think about all these different chapters of our lives and how Murphy was around to help us write each page. Going forward won’t be easy as we acclimate to a new normal without our furry coauthor. The jingle of keys is still enough to fool me for a split second before realizing it’s not Murphy’s collar. It’s hard knowing I’ll never open a SnapChat of Murphy from my dad again, or that I won’t be greeted at the door with barks and a pounce after time spent away from home. I love Murphy and will be forever grateful for the memories he gave me. Rest in peace buddy.
