Murphy 1991 - 2005 Murphy came into my life on a beautiful and Sunny day in September of 1991.

I was a senior in college and my Drake soccer team had driven down to Kansas City -- my hometown -- for a game against Rockhurst. As I recall, the details of memory are often sketchy, we lost the game 3-2. I played sparingly, the Coach was "rebuilding" for the future and myself and a couple of other seniors saw precious little playing time that year. It was unfortunate that I had played so little, for both my brothers and my Mom had come to the game. Hey, I figured, at least they'll have a care package for me.

And what a care package it was.

After we had emerged from the locker room, my family was all standing around in the parking lot with a new member of the family. A tiny red ball of fur no bigger than a loaf of bread. "Tug," my Mother said, "this is Murphy. He's your college graduation present."

Now, as I stated earlier, I was really just into the beginnings of my senior year, and while I was on track to graduate on time that May (which I did) you still don't normally get graduation gifts 9 months before the fact. But that's my Mom, unconventional to say the least.

The way she figured it, she'd take Murphy for the school year and get him house-trained and all that crap (with a focus on dog crap) while I was finishing up at school, then, when I came home -- there here would be for me.

And there he was.

For the past 14 years, Murph has been a best friend, a companion and a pain in the neck (and parts lower). He has been a barker, a whiner, a heavy breather, a snorer, a puss and a pillow. He has had goopy eyes, has worn the lampshade, has been on a chain, a leash and in a number of big, green yards. He has had trouble with wood floors, with linoleum, with decks and with stairs. He has slept with me, near me or all the way downstairs from me. He has been called Murphy, Murph, Fee, Phlaah, Mr. Furry Pants, Mr. Furry Pantalones and Mr. Furry Lederhosen. He has been the Shaggy D.A. and has had the summer cut. He has run after balls, sticks and bones. He has swum in baby pools and in ponds and even once, in a lake. He has sniffed other dogs, has eaten dirty underwear and once had a big thing for stinky socks. He has licked my face, my friends' faces, my loved ones' faces and other dogs' faces. He was gentle as a feather to my two infant sons Sean and Nick, was a wonderful friend to my wife Sarah and was ever faithful to me.

Unfortunately, the past few years he has also had bad hips, a bad back, a tumor on his side and other issues with his digestion and general heath that I won't go into here. Yesterday, we awoke to find that Murph's back-half was paralyzed. His hind legs were as stiff and staight as reeds, and they were utterly uncontrollable. I kept on trying to get him to stand up, but he simpy couldn't. All the time though, that his body was giving out on him, he stayed Murph. He wagged his tail till the end, friends. He wagged his tail to the end.

To add to all this, he also hadn't been drinking water for two or three days and yesterday, wouldn't eat. Even from Sarah's hand. We took him to our excellent vet, Dr. Brock Exline, who, thankfully, didn't judge us or try to tell us that he could fix this. So, the proper medications were procured, and we pet and held him for the last moments of his life.

And then, at the last moment -- I promise you that this is true -- he lifted his head off the floor, put it on my knee, looked into my eyes and sighed. Then he lay down and went to eversleep.

We stayed with him for a few more moments. Then slowly got up, dried our eyes and walked away.

I love you Murphy. Now and forever you are my best boy.

Go, run now and fetch a ball.
  ¶ 8:40 AM