Murphy's Love

Murphy spent yesterday at Katya's again.  When I went to pick him up, this time she met me at her front door with him and his stuff.  He saw me through the screen door and was balking at the leash to get to me.  When she opened the door, Murphy busted out and bounced all over my legs in greeting.

"Aw, he so loves you," she said.

I admit I was a little proud.  He'd finally decided to allow me to love him.  He didn't bark at me.  He instead greeted me with enthusiasm.  Which made it even harder for me that in only an hour or two, I'd be handing him over to his new foster, Melissa.  As he bounced on me, I wondered what it was like from his point of view.  As I enjoy caring for dogs, I wonder if to him, I'm the one he's caring for.  Just as I was excited to see him because I got to take care of him, maybe he was excited to see me because now he got to take care of me.

While Katya and I spoke Murphy still had opinions, whining, growling, making general expressions of impatience.  He was happy to see me, but now we needed to get on with things.  His little groans of impatience reminded me of Dutchess.  If my father yelled at Dutchess and told her to get to bed, Dutchess would walk back to her crate, the whole time grumbling away.  He'd still be talking to her and she'd have her butt facing out of her crate toward him as she continued her grumbling which needed no interpretation.  I'm sure if she had the gift of the English language, a whole host of expletives would have been uttered in annoyance.

I caved into Murphy's impatience as Katya had to get ready for the evening anyway, and when I got back to the car I realized that Murphy might not understand just how big he is.  He is only a year old, and six months ago was probably half the size he is now.  So he didn't understand why he couldn't sit on my lap while I drove.  When I got in the car, he refused to get out of the driver's seat, somehow believing he was small enough to share the seat with me.  Dutchess used to do that in my father's recliner.  Even as she got older (and wider), she still believed she could fit just fine in the seat with someone else.  And if you tried to sit next to her and you didn't fit, then it was obviously your problem not hers. She'd grumble and growl, informing you that clearly you were the one that was too wide, not her.

As I was negotiating the terms of the driver's seat with Murphy, my phone rang.  Melissa was just leaving work and would be ready to meet up in forty-five minutes.  I was surprised that I felt a little pull on my heart.  I wasn't ready to give him up yet.  I told her I'd call her when I made it back to the valley, and we'd see where she was at too, in case she hit traffic.  I admit it: I was stalling.

I got back to my place, and I was having a hard time accepting having to let go of Murphy even though itt was what was best for him.  Melissa even has dogs that he can play with.  But I think aside from him being an awesome dog, his short stature and big personality was making me nostalgic.  And he's not even all doxie; in fact he might be Basset, although attitude makes me believe dachshund.  My boss described him best when he said, "It looks like someone stuck a yellow lab's head on a dachshund's body." 

Everyone says that the pictures I take of my foster dogs make it seem like they all have a giant head and a tiny body.  But it's merely focal length and perspective.  In this case though, Murphy really does have a giant head and a tiny body.

How had he burrowed into my heart so quickly?  I was going to miss this little guy with a giant dog bark.  I could see how Lavinia bonded so quickly.  I didn't think I had, maybe because it had come so naturally.

As I drove to the park where Melissa and I were to meet, I looked at the situation from another perspective (the big head-little body perspective).  The fact was, lots of people wanted to love Murphy.  Unlike Mickey who had no other options but me or boarding, Murphy had a line up of fosters wanting to be with him.  It was just circumstance on why no one single person had held onto him.

The thing is, I wasn't abandoning him.  I was sharing him.  Just as Dutchess shares me with others now; I am allowing the experience of knowing Murphy to be shared with others.  He already had shared himself with his first foster, then Lavinia, then me, and Katya and Christy along the way as well as countless others during his shelter days.  Now he's getting to know someone else.  He's going to let someone else love him.  And someone else is going to know what it is to know Murphy's love.

Of course loving a dachshund does come on their terms, as I've mentioned before.  So it really shouldn't surprise me as to how the transfer went down.

There was a baseball game going on when I got to the park.  I found the very last parking space available and Melissa met me at my truck.  Murphy was so busy taking in all the stimuli that he really didn't register what was going on.  He ignored Melissa and even me.  I explained to Melissa that he does know his name, but he just chooses to ignore you unless you have something really interesting to offer.

With all of his stuff in Melissa's car, it was time to hand him over.  I was holding him and I gave him a squeeze to say good bye.  He didn’t look me in the eye, and again, I thought he really wasn't registering that I was leaving.  Melissa put out her arms and I handed him over without thinking of the consequences.

There he was, face to face with her.  A moment of peace, then a lip curl, and then Psycho Dog burst out of that once placid little yellow lab face.  Luckily Melissa is pretty relaxed and I watched without freaking out too, as she slowly let him fall away down her body and onto the ground.

"Are you okay?  Is your face okay?" I asked as Murphy gently landed on the ground and his ballistic barking ceased.

"Um, yeah, he didn't bite.  He just bumped me.  He didn't try to bite.  I saw the snarl so I saw it coming," she replied.  "Okay, let's try walking you to the car instead," she said to Murphy.

She walked him to the passenger seat and helped him get in.  This time he had no problem.  I had explained to her that he didn't like car rides.  He wants to sit in your lap, and he's too big for that.  In my truck, I found the best place was for him was to be draped across the center console, with just his muzzle resting on my thigh.  Melissa got into the car, saying, "Let's see if he'll let me in the car."

Not only did he not mind, but he crawled up onto her lap.  I watched from outside the car as she tried to get her seatbelt on, and Murphy just stood on her lap as he had on mine, body pressed into her chest, completely unaware, or uncaring, to the fact that she need to be able to move.

"Try not to get eaten on the way home," I called out to her and thanked her for taking him.

I watched them drive away, and wished them well in my heart.  I was realizing why I liked dachshunds so much: they have that independent streak, that sense of not needing anyone, when in reality they do, but they don't want anyone to know that.  It was almost as if he was trying to sabotage the relationship by snarling at her.  And if she could put up with that, then he'd allow her to love him, and show her what a sweetheart he really is.  He wanted her to know how ferocious he was.

When I was little, my first doxie Noodles attacked my father.  He had been outside shoveling during a blizzard and walked into the house covered from head to toe.  Work boots, snow pants, winter jacket, gloves, hat, and scarf covering his entire face.  My little fourteen inch high dachshund immediately saw this as a threat.  Her hackles went up, the first sign of fear in a dog, and yet, love of her family overtook that fear.  She lunged at my father, trying to tear into his boot, the only thing she could reach.  No one in the family had ever seen her like this.  My father took off his scarf to get her to realize it was him, not a stranger, but it still took time for her to calm down.  She was scared to death, and yet at the same time, was bravely fighting to protect her family.

These little dachshunds were bred to fight badgers.  They were bred to fight hand to hand combat with some of the most vicious creatures on earth.  Today they are family pets.  But that bravery is still there.  They don't want to fight anymore, but if they need to they will.  This little dog doesn't look like much, but his bark pretty fierce.  You may laugh at such a loud sound coming from such a small animal, but that bark is from the heart.  They are intense little dogs.  The thing is, no matter how much fear they have, the amount of love they have will always outweigh it and drive their actions.

That love makes them fierce.  They protect the ones they love.  I like to believe that for any dog regardless of breed, that it's a source of pride to have a human all their own to love and protect.  And if that be true, then Murphy's been quite lucky in that way, as he's had a lot of humans to love and protect in his short life.  And for those of us that have passed his test and appreciate that intensity, we've been lucky too, to share in the experience that is loving Murphy.