This week was the third anniversary of the death of Murphy. Dog-people sometimes talk about our "friends" and sometimes non-dog-people scoff at such an idea. How can a dog be a genuine friend? That's silly. To them, maybe. I pity them for that.
Murph was a special being. Oh, sure— every dog owner says that about their doggie pals. And I have no doubt they are right. I've lived with too many fine dogs to doubt it in the least.
But even so, Murph was different. If I were a Buddhist I'd say he was a bodhisattva. And who's to say he was not. Not a day goes by that I do not think about him and wish he were still here with us.
The two pictures are of him as a young sprout, full of vim and vigor, and just before his death, when the cancer had really eaten into him.
Nobody who ever got to know him thought he was anything but very, very special. He'll be with me 'til my own last day.