Marv, you crazy dog!

Marv, you crazy dog!

John Paul Derryberry

Our dog, Marv, has entered his elder years. I do not know who said it or where I picked it up. Still, the statement, "Get a puppy so you can be emotionally gutted ten years later," is one of the more accurate statements in my life. Marv has given us more than ten wonderful years; he is about four months away from year 11. But those of us who have had dogs know we do not mark the relationships by years. There is something about the wag of the tail that lengthens the connection and deepens the love we have for our four-legged friends.

Marv is a couple of months shy of being just as old as my marriage to Anne, so it was not a fun trip to the vet this past week as Marv struggled through another week of odd health stuff. There was a real feeling that this could be a goodbye for our faithful companion. It was more than dusty in the vet room as we ran through the tests. Luckily, while Marv is sick, we will have more time with him. I often say he has rounded 3rd base and is heading for home. Probably a less adventurous time than the youthful Marv. But he has earned his late-stage layaround.

Marv has always been great, but he has also managed to worry our hearts through his life just as much as he has captured them. A broken leg as a puppy, an early grooming accident, and there was the time I took 9-month-old Marv for a backpacking trip and he ate horse poop. Nothing like sharing a tent with a dog who has the runs to liven up the backpacking experience. Marv fell in love with the camping gear, and still, as an old dog, if you start pulling out the sleeping bags and camping hammock, he gets excited. Marv loved to lie on me and swing in the hammock almost as much as he loved attempting to chase away the Amazon delivery driver.

He loved to swim, leading to the bee sting and another trip to the vet. It was almost always a trip to the vet with this guy. Stiff muscles after the first night of a backpacking trip in Missouri with him had my wife thinking I would have to carry him for the last 8 miles. The dude heard a noise off the trail and took off like a trained greyhound in a race. The best of all was camping with him. He didn't mind sleeping in the tent as long as he had a soft spot to lie down.

He always wants to be petted until he doesn't. He probably gave us multiple looks. Why did you do this to me? When we brought our daughters home. He was always into stuff and borderline getting into mischievous behavior, including picking up the bad habit of getting into the garbage late in life, leading to several trips to the vet. This behavior has led to the use of the joke from the Cool Runnings movie,

Marv, you dead yet?"

"No, man, not dead yet." (I answer myself, but in the voice, I think Marv would have if he could talk.)

Sooner than later, it will be time to say goodbye to our guy. I'm both shocked and sad. I'm amazed we got ten years because the guy knows how to find trouble, and I'm sorry we might not get 12 years with the loveable goofball. Marv has constantly reminded me that relationships are not supposed to follow this grand plan to leave an imprint on us. What makes them memorable and great are the scary moments you survive that you can't plan for. He also reminds me that when we do relationships correctly, we are gutted when they end. And that is a good thing because it meant we cared when it's so much easier not to care. I'm hoping for one more giant tail wag at the camping equipment. Perhaps a last sway in the camping hammock with my guy, but knowing his luck, we would fall out and end up back at the vet.