Murray, the beautiful dog, is slowly slipping away. Our wonderful vet says there is nothing more that can be done about his physical decline. The little West Highland Terrier is an inspiration for everything that I do. We can’t stop crying.
At 16 years old, other than our children and grandchildren, he is the most beloved thing in our lives. Roselle says that Murray has been the greatest gift of the past 16 years. I remember bringing him home when he was no bigger than his head is now.
Those who follow this column know that Murray actually writes some of these efforts. That is not a gratuitous thing. I have often found myself thinking, “What would Murray say?” Maybe that is because I’ve always liked to think my thoughts and Murray’s are often the same. I like to try to get inside his head and write the words I suspect he is thinking.
The neighbors adore Murray. They speak to him and he loves them right back. We will not try to replace Murray, who is the fifth of five beloved dogs. Our kids and grandchildren all love Murray, and the toughest part of this is telling everyone that their brother is passing. How do you do that?
So many of you have gone through this and you know what we are experiencing. Lately, poor Murray has been walking around with a tilted head and back legs that are no longer serving him. We’re always looking for ways to give him comfort. He’s been completely blind and deaf for over a year. We carry him up and down the stairs so that he can be with us at all times.
In the last few weeks, I have lost three friends in their 80s and 90s. I loved them, but this is somehow different. It might be even worse. Murray would sit with us, and if we were feeling down or blue, he would stick out his pink tongue and lift his beautiful eyes to meet our gaze and somehow, some way, you would know that he was with you. Murray is a Mama’s dog. He followed Roselle around and slept next to her pushing his strong little body up against her. He is also a kisser.
Murray has a mind of his own. When I would walk him, he would often tell me, usually by planting himself on the sidewalk, that he was not happy with my directional choices. “Hell no, Pop. I’m not going that way.” He always won. In his younger days, he was an amazing acrobat. He would stand by the couch or even the bed, look up, do some mental calculations, and jump. These days, he doesn’t always make it.
So, for all of you who have gone through this miserable experience of losing your wonderful companion, I can only say that I understand how much it hurts. Years ago, we made a life-sized statue of me and Murray out of cardboard and displayed it at WAMC. Now it sits in our basement.
The days and hours that we have spent thinking about what to do in this situation have not been easy. We called our children and asked them how they thought Murray’s death would affect the two eight year olds and one five year old. It won’t be easy. The kids got such pleasure in being allowed to walk Murray. Years ago, my Aunt Deedee’s dog, Skeezix, died. I was inconsolable then and now I’m in the same place. For all of you who have been where we are, I can only tell you how sorry I am.
I think I’ll put that cardboard cutout of Murray on our porch now.
