AIREDALE QUILTING BEE©

When Jeri asked for an essay on my boy, Murphy, I reached back through the mists of time almost ten years and there he was: Murphy the Wonder Dog, thin as a stick, so frail we could see his heart beat, bewilderment in his eyes, shaking like a leaf – one of the best dogs I am ever likely to know.

We fell flat on our faces in love with him . . . .

Murphy was eleven years old when we met him. He had been tied out in the bitter Yukon weather for more than a year with no shelter. His bark was hoarse from his tether biting harshly into his throat. His lovely woolly champagne and silver coat was newly groomed by Pascal Black, his rescuer, but his bones thrust sharply through the fur because he had stopped eating. Clearly, life was a burden that he no longer wished to carry. We thought, if we were lucky, he might last a few months. Instead, he was our boy for three wonderful years.

At the time, our pack consisted of Little Miss Angie A and her partner in crime, Pifflesqueak the Toy Poodle. Angie promptly succumbed to senior Murphy’s charm, staying near her elderly friend and, doting on him. Murphy, for his part, thought walking Pifflesqueak was his job and one he was thrilled to do. He would grab her leash and march off up the drive with her heeling nicely beside him.

A medical wonder dog, blind 22”Murphy suffered from hip dysplasia, arthritis, pancreatitis, a heart murmur, and high blood pressure. Offered nutritious foods and appropriate medications, he thrived and gained weight, going from a mere 29 pounds to a whopping 43 pounds. He also got into a great deal of trouble! He stalked the concrete cat in the living room, spending an entire day one time guarding the household against its presumed predations. He knocked over the trash and feasted happily, inviting Angie and Pifflesqueak to join him at the banquet. He was leveled by Angie who inadvertently fell off the bed on top of him, panic causing him to race out of the bedroom in demented rocking horse mode, long skinny legs flying every which way. Showered in mail because he would insist on sleeping under the mail slot by the stairs, Murphy attacked the envelopes, flyers and magazines daily that landed on his head, yelling OOK! OOK! OOK! the entire time.

When it snowed, Murphy stayed inside and shuddered. He’d seen enough of THAT nasty stuff in the Yukon, thank you. One Halloween, he scared us half to death when he wound himself up in the bedskirt, howling ghostlike in fright as he attempted spookily to disengage from the enveloping fabric.

He went on rescue home visits with us very happily until the day he encountered the loft with the glass block floor upon which he utterly refused to set paw and had to be carried, waving cheerfully at all the laughing tenants of the building. In another instance, spotting an enticing blob of ice cream on Angie’s back nearly caused a riot as the old fellow chased her through the house, attempting to lick the treat off her fur. He dug up the hydrangeas in the back yard on a weekly basis, inexplicably losing the dirt somewhere along the line. He got stuck under the dining room table and yowled until someone escorted him to “safety”! He even engaged in a vigorous game of knick-knack-paddy-whack with Angie A from time to time, swatting at her gently with paws the size of ping pong paddles.

In our company, he traveled all over much of BC and Alberta, Alaska, the Yukon and the Northwest Territories. He visited the stores in Fairbanks, AK, nearly tumbled into an icy stream in the Yukon and chased a cat through downtown Edmonton, AB. As he aged and became more and more frail, he was only able to walk shorter and shorter distances but how he loved going with Angie and Pifflesqueak and how he hated being left behind! We bought him a buggy which carried him along the Oregon beaches in style as well as on many other outings. Kindly, he permitted us to stuff the grandchildren into the buggy with him when we encountered sudden rain squalls.

I could never relate all of Murphy’s adventures. There were so many . . . . I could never begin to share what his presence in our home meant to us . . . . When cancer robbed us of him at nearly age 15, we were beyond grief . . . .

Without the assistance of Airedale rescue, Murphy would certainly have died. Jim and I would have missed the three wonderful years this amazing old gentleman obligingly shared with us – and we would have been so much the poorer . . . .

Maureen Scott

BC Coordinator

AireCanada Airedale Rescue Network