My Marley
It’s hard to put the words to the memories I have of Marley.
My beloved dog of almost 16 years, he was a co-parent to my toddler boys when I was alone.
He guarded my house, my yard, me and the boys from all that would harm us.
He played games with the boys that made them squeal with laughter.
He would allow them to tug relentlessly on his ears and lips and tongue.
He would follow them and herd them away from danger.
If they ventured out too far in the surf for Marley’s liking, he would be out there, swimming if he had to, to guide them gently back to the shore.
He ran with them, he lay with them, he played and frolicked with them.
As they grew older, and their interests inevitably strayed from home into the outside world, he waited for them.
Any scrap of attention was enough, any scratch on the head or pat on the back was adequate.
He smiled to the point a wide gleeful grin that inevitably made all that saw him, smile back.
He was a tolerant, yet firm guide to the uneducated children around him.
He nipped at those that were cruel, warning them that the loving dog that they antagonized with sticks and stones was only tolerating them out of love for his family.
He was an only dog for so long but stoically gave up his territory to five other dogs and a variety of cats over the years.
But he was always the “Best Dog”. The dog that helped the other dogs learn the rules. The dog that sat and lay down and lifted his paw.
The dog that always came when called.
The dog that frolicked in the water and stood still for a bath.
The dog that loved a good towel dry.
The playful, frisky fun loving dog that played tug-o-war and soccer.
Even when his age caught up to him.
Even when his hind legs would collapse under him.
Even when it was so obvious that he was in pain.
He would still play.
He would still run.
He would still find the joy in our presence however infrequent it had become.
Marley was the dog.
The dog that no one wanted.
Returned for fighting or aggressive behavior, I would walk past his kennel and he would watch me. His name was Merlot at the time. I would find a reason to go the back of my brother’s vet clinic just so I could see him.
Finally, I decided that I couldn’t stand to see him in that kennel – this vivacious shepherd collie mix with the beautiful coat and energy that emanated from him. I thought he must be going mad in there. I decided to take him to the beach on a weekend visit to my mom. I put him in the front seat and picked the boys up from day care. They couldn’t believe it. They hugged him and he licked them.
I was nervous.
I knew he had been terribly abused (later I would find out that it was way beyond what I thought) and that he had a history of erratic behavior.
But he took to the boys.
By the time we got to the beach house it was dark. My mom heard us pull up and opened the door. On that drive, during which the boys were asleep for ¾ of the trip, Marley had adopted them. He started growling at this shadowy figure approaching the car.
I knew right then and there that I would never let this dog go.
I knew right then and there that this dog would lay down his life for me and for my boys. I knew that he was devoted and I in turn became devoted.
His loyalty gave my mom a sense of relief knowing that her daughter and grandkids would be protected in that little white house in rural Conroe.
And she was right.
No one dared approach me and the boys.
Especially men, when Marley was around.
Marley had been terribly abused – I knew the moment I picked up a broom and he shook so violently, cowering, flinching and peeing all over the floor.
He hated men. He had been horribly scarred.
But he found us. And he found a man, Lance, that he grew to love and trust and, in turn, trusted other men that we allowed into our home as he trusted us more and more.
The number of people that would stop and tell me how beautiful he was.
His coat was so shiny, his coloring so gorgeous.
He had such a pride.
I remember the first time I shaved him. I told the boys to be sensitive when they saw him as Marley seemed a little embarrassed. When the boys came in and hugged on him and told him how beautiful he was, his whole disposition changed. He lived for the attention of those boys!
As the years have worn on, Marley has never complained.
As arthritis and hip dysplasia ravaged his hindquarters, he never whined or complained. When he tore his ACL, his back leg dragging behind him, he soldiered on. That’s an overused term.
That dog could barely use his back legs and then he tears a vital ligament and still pushes himself. We couldn’t risk surgery at his age, so we medicated him to ease his pain. His front legs became massive, with his “elbows” turning outward under the continuous strain that they were now under. His back end was nothing – the muscle withered and the skin just hung there. But he always was up for a frolic in the yard or a quick jaunt around the block.
It was Saturday April 18th, 2009, the day of torrential rain, when the backyard started to flood as did the street. I watched Marley all day, knowing that he hated thunderstorms but seeing him lying on our wood floor, shifting fairly often but not getting up. I realized, it was too difficult. Every time he tried, he would slip and collapse back down. I would bound over to lift him up and he looked at me with his usual unconditional love and grace.
I realize now that we had been self-indulgent.
We knew he was struggling but we were all gone most of the day and didn’t see his struggles.
God knows, he wouldn’t make a fuss.
So we allowed him to stagnate, reflecting his joy at our return home by an excited tail and his delighted expression but little else.
We could easily dismiss it, easily wave it aside because none of us wanted to be the one to say, that’s it.
I realized that I had chosen him.
I had decided all those years ago at my brother’s vet clinic that I would take a chance on this crazy aggressive dog as a single parent with two toddlers. It was up to me to be brave enough to put him first, as he had always put us first.
And then it hit me again.
There was more to it than even that.
Marley was my last connection to my brother.
My older brother, Paul, who died three years ago after struggling with ALS for six years.
My beloved dog of almost 16 years, he was a co-parent to my toddler boys when I was alone.
He guarded my house, my yard, me and the boys from all that would harm us.
He played games with the boys that made them squeal with laughter.
He would allow them to tug relentlessly on his ears and lips and tongue.
He would follow them and herd them away from danger.
If they ventured out too far in the surf for Marley’s liking, he would be out there, swimming if he had to, to guide them gently back to the shore.
He ran with them, he lay with them, he played and frolicked with them.
As they grew older, and their interests inevitably strayed from home into the outside world, he waited for them.
Any scrap of attention was enough, any scratch on the head or pat on the back was adequate.
He smiled to the point a wide gleeful grin that inevitably made all that saw him, smile back.
He was a tolerant, yet firm guide to the uneducated children around him.
He nipped at those that were cruel, warning them that the loving dog that they antagonized with sticks and stones was only tolerating them out of love for his family.
He was an only dog for so long but stoically gave up his territory to five other dogs and a variety of cats over the years.
But he was always the “Best Dog”. The dog that helped the other dogs learn the rules. The dog that sat and lay down and lifted his paw.
The dog that always came when called.
The dog that frolicked in the water and stood still for a bath.
The dog that loved a good towel dry.
The playful, frisky fun loving dog that played tug-o-war and soccer.
Even when his age caught up to him.
Even when his hind legs would collapse under him.
Even when it was so obvious that he was in pain.
He would still play.
He would still run.
He would still find the joy in our presence however infrequent it had become.
Marley was the dog.
The dog that no one wanted.
Returned for fighting or aggressive behavior, I would walk past his kennel and he would watch me. His name was Merlot at the time. I would find a reason to go the back of my brother’s vet clinic just so I could see him.
Finally, I decided that I couldn’t stand to see him in that kennel – this vivacious shepherd collie mix with the beautiful coat and energy that emanated from him. I thought he must be going mad in there. I decided to take him to the beach on a weekend visit to my mom. I put him in the front seat and picked the boys up from day care. They couldn’t believe it. They hugged him and he licked them.
I was nervous.
I knew he had been terribly abused (later I would find out that it was way beyond what I thought) and that he had a history of erratic behavior.
But he took to the boys.
By the time we got to the beach house it was dark. My mom heard us pull up and opened the door. On that drive, during which the boys were asleep for ¾ of the trip, Marley had adopted them. He started growling at this shadowy figure approaching the car.
I knew right then and there that I would never let this dog go.
I knew right then and there that this dog would lay down his life for me and for my boys. I knew that he was devoted and I in turn became devoted.
His loyalty gave my mom a sense of relief knowing that her daughter and grandkids would be protected in that little white house in rural Conroe.
And she was right.
No one dared approach me and the boys.
Especially men, when Marley was around.
Marley had been terribly abused – I knew the moment I picked up a broom and he shook so violently, cowering, flinching and peeing all over the floor.
He hated men. He had been horribly scarred.
But he found us. And he found a man, Lance, that he grew to love and trust and, in turn, trusted other men that we allowed into our home as he trusted us more and more.
The number of people that would stop and tell me how beautiful he was.
His coat was so shiny, his coloring so gorgeous.
He had such a pride.
I remember the first time I shaved him. I told the boys to be sensitive when they saw him as Marley seemed a little embarrassed. When the boys came in and hugged on him and told him how beautiful he was, his whole disposition changed. He lived for the attention of those boys!
As the years have worn on, Marley has never complained.
As arthritis and hip dysplasia ravaged his hindquarters, he never whined or complained. When he tore his ACL, his back leg dragging behind him, he soldiered on. That’s an overused term.
That dog could barely use his back legs and then he tears a vital ligament and still pushes himself. We couldn’t risk surgery at his age, so we medicated him to ease his pain. His front legs became massive, with his “elbows” turning outward under the continuous strain that they were now under. His back end was nothing – the muscle withered and the skin just hung there. But he always was up for a frolic in the yard or a quick jaunt around the block.
It was Saturday April 18th, 2009, the day of torrential rain, when the backyard started to flood as did the street. I watched Marley all day, knowing that he hated thunderstorms but seeing him lying on our wood floor, shifting fairly often but not getting up. I realized, it was too difficult. Every time he tried, he would slip and collapse back down. I would bound over to lift him up and he looked at me with his usual unconditional love and grace.
I realize now that we had been self-indulgent.
We knew he was struggling but we were all gone most of the day and didn’t see his struggles.
God knows, he wouldn’t make a fuss.
So we allowed him to stagnate, reflecting his joy at our return home by an excited tail and his delighted expression but little else.
We could easily dismiss it, easily wave it aside because none of us wanted to be the one to say, that’s it.
I realized that I had chosen him.
I had decided all those years ago at my brother’s vet clinic that I would take a chance on this crazy aggressive dog as a single parent with two toddlers. It was up to me to be brave enough to put him first, as he had always put us first.
And then it hit me again.
There was more to it than even that.
Marley was my last connection to my brother.
My older brother, Paul, who died three years ago after struggling with ALS for six years.
Marley was a living reminder of the gift Paul had with animals.
And the love he and I shared for the dependent beings of this world.
Letting Marley go was also letting Paul go.
Something I thought I had done a long time ago.
But I hadn’t.
So I selfishly held on to Marley all the while professing my ease with releasing my brother to a “better place”.
I didn’t put it together, the refusal to acknowledge something that was bashing my conscience on a daily basis, that Marley was suffering, because I couldn’t let go of that last living memento of my brave and wonderful brother.
On April 24th, I will take Marley to the park.
Just him and me as we used to do.
I’ll give him 3 aspirin and let him frolic and sniff and lay and relish a glorious day in the park with me.
I will let him have a bacon cheeseburger and I will hug him and be with him on his terms until he’s had enough.
And then he, Josh, Cody and I will go to the vet and we, his family, will hold him as he eases out of this world surrounded by those that he loves the most, as we remember the unequivocal joy that animal gave to us daily and unselfishly.
We will mourn the loss of our beloved, Marley, our first family dog.
We will always love him and look forward to the day of reunion.
And the love he and I shared for the dependent beings of this world.
Letting Marley go was also letting Paul go.
Something I thought I had done a long time ago.
But I hadn’t.
So I selfishly held on to Marley all the while professing my ease with releasing my brother to a “better place”.
I didn’t put it together, the refusal to acknowledge something that was bashing my conscience on a daily basis, that Marley was suffering, because I couldn’t let go of that last living memento of my brave and wonderful brother.
On April 24th, I will take Marley to the park.
Just him and me as we used to do.
I’ll give him 3 aspirin and let him frolic and sniff and lay and relish a glorious day in the park with me.
I will let him have a bacon cheeseburger and I will hug him and be with him on his terms until he’s had enough.
And then he, Josh, Cody and I will go to the vet and we, his family, will hold him as he eases out of this world surrounded by those that he loves the most, as we remember the unequivocal joy that animal gave to us daily and unselfishly.
We will mourn the loss of our beloved, Marley, our first family dog.
We will always love him and look forward to the day of reunion.
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