Brrr, it's cold

Murphy is a 14 year old Yellow labrador.  She is my best friend.  I met her, almost 14 years ago, when I was in Washington, DC being head-hunted for a job with an environmental research organization.  The head hunter's office colleague had a litter of puppies.  I had casually mentioned that I was going to look for a pup while I was deciding about the job offer.  Right then, I was whisked to the colleague's home in Georgetown, where I met Murphy, one of two females in the litter.  I immediately said "yes" to the pup and eventually "no" to the job.  Four weeks later I drove from New York to DC to bring Murphy home.  

Our 14 years together have been an adventure.  We now live in Seattle.  And she is growing old.  For awhile, we were about the same age, but in the past year, and quite noticeably in the past few months, she has gotten much older.  I think she has lost a bit of her eyesight because she follows her nose and wanders away from me when I walk her off leash.  She no longer wags her tail.  And she seems restless, as if she is saying she knows there is not much time and she has things to do, but she is not sure what they are, yet.  

I am writing this to share Murphy's days, to share all our adventures, and to let Murphy's life illuminate our world.

 

Today, it is cold.  The sun is out, but it is probably around 32 degrees.  Labs love this brisk weather.  The frigidity must get into their lab ancestry memory bank, open a vault, and let out all the playfulness.  Murphy goes outside and begins to roll on her back.  If there was snow, I would have lab snow angels.  It took her a long time to settle into a nap this morning.  A vet would probably tell me she is becoming senile and disoriented.  I think it is the opposite.  Murphy knows exactly where she is and she wants to find the inner lab energy to play in the cold.  She wants to run along the beach, bring in the fishing nets, and end the day curled up next to the fire.  Bark, bark, bark, telling me to get going, let's find the coldest spot on Earth so she can hurl herself into the waves, just one more time.  

Finally, she settled down, and as I write, she is on one of her beds, sleeping.  In an hour I will take her, and her much younger sister Sage, out for a walk.  In her heart, though, I feel the beat of that lab, the one running into the waves, glued onto the bobbing yellow tennis ball, swimming madly toward it, no idea of the cold.  She'll do the walk, I'll watch to make sure she doesn't wander off following her nose, but together, we are really playing at the beach.

Murphy's day.