Number 213

Dogs

In 2008 the movie Marley & Me was released. It was based upon a similarly named memoir, written by John Grogan, that was published in 2005. At its start, our protagonist ("Me"),  adopts a mischievous puppy ("Marley"). The rest of the story is about dog-related hijinx, in which Marley endears himself to his human family despite the many exasperating moments that all dog owners - both fictional and real - completely understand. [Spoiler Alert] In the end, after a long doggy life, Marley is euthanized. I cried, and if you saw it, so did you. More about later.

A shockingly large number of people describe how betrayed they felt when the dog died at the end. "It was such a warm, fuzzy family movie, why did it have to end in such a depressing way?" is the gist of their complaints. Let me be frank: These people are idiots. Anyone who saw the movie with only a minimal understanding of its contents should have implicitly understood that the only honest way to end the movie was with Marley's death.

I love dogs. We have two of our own at home: Ginger and Max. I'm always down to pet any dog I encounter during my waking hours. I fancy myself a bit of a dog 'whisperer' actually - an empathic connection with humanity's best friends. They seem to get me, too, so a quick connection is usually established. If I ever won a huge sum of money in some sort of lottery, I would develop a dog sanctuary and spend my time with all the dogs. I don't hate cats, mind you - they're okay - but I love dogs.

So back to Marley for a second. Yes, it is incredibly sad when Marley dies at the end, but ultimately the entire movie is a beautiful encapsulation of what makes spending part of your life with a dog so wonderful. The expected life span of a dog is only a fraction of the expected life span of a human being. It is critical that anyone who contemplates incorporating a dog into their life understand this. At some point that dog is going to die and break your heart. That is how this equation almost always ends up balancing out, and you're a fool if you ignore it. But, Oh! the love and joy that dog will bring into your life while they're with you makes it all worthwhile. And their passing, as incredibly sad as it is - every single time - also informs us of how special life is. So yeah, the end of Marley and Me is sad, but it is also honest and life-affirming, too. My humble, yet resilient suggestion, is to refocus your attention on the parts of Marley's story that made you laugh, put a smile on your face, and made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Back to Ginger and Max.

Ginger is a mixed-breed dog. She looks like a cross between a golden retriever and a yellow lab. She is thirteen years old now, and the hair on her face and snout is mostly white nowadays. My two daughters and I brought her home one Saturday afternoon when she was about 4 months old. Emma picked her up when we came upon a pet adoption while running errands, and after about fifteen minutes of holding her it was all over. I warned my wife with a phone call that started "hypothetically speaking, what would you think if we brought home a puppy..." She was named "Ginger" by the folks at the animal shelter, and we all thought that was a pretty good name, so we kept it. She's an absolute love. Despite a need to bark incessantly at any doorbell or knock at the door, she has never behaved aggressively once in her life. After Rebecca died, despite her own sadness, she cared for Grace and me as we struggled to regain the equilibrium needed to move forward (Emma was away at college during this time). I remember how she used to rip through the off-leash portions of the dog park when she was young. A four-legged bottle of Jolt cola flying through the woods. She's slowed down a great deal since then, and her hips cause her discomfort, but she still tunnels herself between my legs whenever I greet her, inviting me to scratch her right above her tail - the place she loves best. The hair she leaves behind mid-leg on whatever I might be wearing a testament to her presence among us. A shot from the vet once a month keeps the pain in her hips under control. She has fewer days ahead of her than she does behind her, but what the heck, you can say the same thing about me. I have always held the strong belief that you don't keep your dog alive for your sake - you make end of life decisions based upon what is best for your dog. I already grieve for a moment I know is probably coming soon, but Ginger keeps telling me she's not yet ready every time we (still) play chase in the backyard.

Max is a mixed-breed question mark. Lab mixed with Pit mixed with Great Dane mixed with Dalmation, etc. I choose the name, based upon one of my favorite fictional characters - the Grinch's ever faithful and cheerful companion from the original animated special based upon the book by Dr. Suess. He will be seven on Halloween. He is, and I say this with no sense of insult or disparagement, very dumb. But he is utterly dedicated to his human family. He has a need to be constantly in our presence, snuggled up as close as he can be. He loves his pets and scratches. He is, by nature, not an aggressive dog, however, if he were a person he would probably be considered 'neuro-divergent.' He loves to play with other dogs, but he quickly becomes over-excited. The resulting behavior is, how shall we put it: "not acceptable dog park behavior." Poor Sweetie. As it is he loves to run and jump. Especially jump. That, and he tends to hop a lot.

Just now Max isn't feeling all that great. He stopped eating about six weeks ago. It coincided with a change in his kibble. When he stopped eating the new food, I figured he was just being stubborn, and that I could wait him out - eventually he'll get hungry and eat his new food when he realizes that's all there is. Nope. He stopped eating because something was wrong inside. I wish I could tell what it is, but I can't. The vet has eliminated many possibilities - including cancer, thank God, but we're still not sure. He's eaten just enough to keep going, but he has lost about 20% of his body weight since this all started. How this resolves I don't know. What I do know is that I was not planning on worrying about saying goodbye to Max so soon.

As I write this, I don't know how either dog will live out the rest of their days. That's the way life works. But I often see FB posts from people who eulogize their recently passed pets, and it always makes me think that I would prefer to tell the world how special my dogs are before they've left for the doggy afterlife where they get to chase slow squirrels all day long - and just to be clear, I have no interest in any human afterlife that doesn't include dogs. So that's what I've tried to do here. I love all dogs. I especially love Ginger and Max.