Dedicated to the best dog ever...........my angel with whiskers

When I close my eyes I see you, when I open my eyes I miss you.

This blog comes to you from deep inside my heart – a heart that broke exactly 1 year ago today on the lounge room floor as I cradled my almost 14 year old golden retriever Murphy in my arms and felt her fall heavily onto my chest.  I looked up at John sitting next to me and saw him silently weeping as he hugged Murphy too and I watched Evan, Murphy’s vet, lift the stethoscope from her still chest and respectfully whisper that she was gone.  

Murphy hadn’t been well for a number of weeks, renal failure, which had escalated from her being a bit droopy to her refusing food and having to have regular fluid therapy in order to function.  Although we delayed for as long as we could eventually we had to accept that keeping her alive was more about us and our needs than it was about what Murphy needed.  We knew it was time.  

Without question Murphy deserves a blog all of her own and I need to acknowledge straight up that any loving dog owner will tell you that their dog is the best.  The absolute best.  No really, THE best.  And the fact that millions of dogs around the world in all shapes and sizes, varying ages, quirky behaviours and breeds still manage to be the best dog the family has ever owned, is a testament to the perfection of a dog.  And Murphy was no exception this rule.

Murph played a significant role in supporting me during the hardest days of my treatment.  She gave me a reason to stick a cap on my bald head and sit in the sun while I watched her wade around hopelessly chasing the small fish in the shallow water hour after hour.  She helped me remember that it’s the simple things that make you the happiest and that it was perfectly acceptable to sleep in the daytime.  When I was banned from the gym due to infection risk, she was my silent (and very inactive) training partner as I pumped weight in the lounge room to thumping music.  She was a willing listener to my spoken thoughts and I trusted her discretion for non disclosure when I confided in her about how I was feeling on some of the harder days.  She was always there – the blonde four legged heart beat at my feet, under my chair, by the couch or on the daybed always ready to nuzzle into my lap and wait for my hand to fall on her little blonde head for a reassuring pat. The reassurance was reciprocal.

Murphy was my companion as I counted the treatments down, sitting with me on the back deck sharing the changing summer months as they faded into a much cooler Autumn.  She made me laugh often.  She was my silent critique on most things.  Life was simple from Murphy’s perspective. She loved her food and hated thunderstorms, birds and toddlers dressed up in batman outfits. She was unwaveringly loyal and even at her sickest always attempted to be in the same room even if that meant a creaky and arthritically painful rise to her feet to plod 10 metres from lounge to kitchen.  And if it was necessary, she would willingly do it all in reverse. Twice.  Remarkably, if we were separated for a period of time, no matter whether it was 5 weeks such as for a holiday or for 5 seconds retrieving something from the car, Murphy always always always grabbed a stuffed toy in her mouth and met me wiggling her bottom at the front door.  In 13.5 years that greeting never grew old and I can tell you a year later, my heart falls every time I unlock my front door and she’s not there.  

We got Murphy as a 9 week old rollie pollie ball of fluff.  She wasn’t the wriggly energetic face licking bite your nose puppy type.  Quite the opposite in fact.  She was kind of floppy and cuddly and let you cradle her like a baby, content to be carried around on her back, all four fat paws up.  Essentially in 13.5 years that never changed so that at 35 plus kilos in the peak of her adult life, Murphy still preferred the human crane to any kind of self propelled jumping which included in and out of the car and the bed.  Yes, it’s true, both John and I were guilty of climbing out of the bed in order to lift Murphy into the bed having woken up to her brown eyes blinking at you, chin resting on the bed edge 3 inches from yours.  If you didn’t wake quickly enough, she would kind of snort a little bit of dog juice from her nose with enough gentle force that it would hit you in the face but miraculously never felt like it was deliberate.  Worked every time.  Lifting her in was a tricky manoeuvre that required lightening speed in order to reinstate your position before Murph settled back down – risking your own personal space and any decent sleep for the remainder of the night.  

Murphy quickly became a focal point of our lives – I guess that’s what children do in expanding families but having made a conscious decision not to have children, it was inevitable that Murphy was going to fulfil that role.  And she loved it.  No amount of attention was ever too much for this girl. And the idea that she was a pet; a dog; an animal to be disciplined and trained - well forget about it.  Murphy was a princess; a diva; the supermodel of the golden retriever world and I just need to say it, Murphy was the boss.  And it wasn’t just us she commanded attention from.  Murphy quickly bossed mates and visitors, next door neighbours (sorry Aunty Lyn and Uncle Ash!) and anyone willing to baby sit her.  She was the ultimate strategist and knew to establish the most superb back up plan possible by enlisting the heart of her Fairy Godmother that lasted an entire lifetime.  She was the gentlest dog with an amazing capacity to always get what she wanted.  The girl was special.  

I made a decision at the start of this blog to always write from my perspective only and so I won’t break that rule now by writing how much both John and I loved and now miss Murphy.  But what I can write with confidence is how as a third party I witnessed the growing bond and depth of love that Murphy clearly had for John.  He was her life and she adored him.  In Murphy’s eyes, I was cool but John was a superstar.  Maybe it’s because he walked her more often.  Maybe it’s because I wasn’t around as much in the later years of her life.  Could it have been the cooking thing?  Maybe it’s because John rode out the majority of thunder storms on the kitchen floor nestling her shaking body as he sung James Taylor ‘You’ve Got a Friend’ on repeat at 3am during the summer months.  Perhaps it was the canine version of the father / daughter thing.  Whatever it was, Murphy had cemented her paw print on John’s heart and she wasn’t going to give that up for anyone.  

And then I got sick.

And somehow Murphy knew that she needed to share her love and her loyalty with me.  She knew that she needed to show me how to seize the moment and to realise that life is not limitless.  She applauded my decision to slow down and be at home with her more often and she showed me why it was important to take time to quietly watch a sunset over the water or enjoy the smell of freshly cut grass at the cricket oval.  She secretly celebrated when I shed more hair on the floor than her and she showed me that no matter how sick and unattractive I looked on the outside, that she could still see the real me and that she loved me - so others would too.  

Above all I think Murphy taught me optimism in the face of adversity.  She was suffering from her own debilitating illness, an unfortunate spiralling of her health due to a spreading infection and aging vital organs in an arthritic wobbly body.  Despite this, Murphy continued to sit at my feet and support me as I completed my treatment plan.  She waited every day for the six weeks of radiotherapy for me to walk back in through the front door so she could present me with one of her stuffed pals and remind me that in the right moment, a simple gesture of love can be more effective and valuable than any words.  And on my last day of treatment, she was right by my side as we very carefully (so it could not be misconstrued with a fire cracker) popped the cork from the Bollinger and celebrated together.

Sadly, around late November last year, Murphy’s health moved into palliative care status and we knew we literally only had days left.  It was never a debate about how we would do it, having the vet come to the house and Murphy being held by both of us as the needle was inserted was always an agreed approach.  The decision about when however came with much debate and many tears.  And eventually a date and time.  

And so, exactly a year ago today, we gave Murphy the best morning we could possibly muster given our heavy hearts which included carrying her down to the waters edge at the beach and throwing her a few last sand balls so she could make a feeble attempt at chasing them – which in an incredible final sign of resilience she did. We carried out all the historic ceremonies that become critical when you know it’s the ‘last one’ like towel downs and hand delivered treats and a nice snooze with her favourite stuffed pal, Webbie.  

And then we waited for the sound of the vet’s car pulling into the driveway.  It was one of the longest mornings of my life that in an instant became all too short.  There are so many heartfelt delightful moments wrapped up in remembering this beautiful soul packaged in 35 kilos of blonde hair and expressive brown eyes – this blog cannot possibly do her justice.  I am so incredibly grateful for her friendship and love.

And so it was, a year ago today, that in the final moments of her life I had the honour and privilege of holding Murphy in my arms;  I had the intimate time to lean down and kiss her on her little grey face and I had one last opportunity to tell her she was THE BEST DOG EVER.   

Shine on your special star Murphy. xxx               

Pawprints Left By You

You no longer greet me,
As I walk through the door.
You're not there to make me smile,
To make me laugh anymore.
Life seems quiet without you,
You were far more than a pet.
You were a family member, a friend
. . . a loving soul I'll never forget.
It will take time to heal -
For the silence to go away.
I still listen for you,
And miss you every day.
You were such a great companion,
Constant, loyal and true.
My heart will always wear,
the pawprints left by you.

-Teri Harrison