My Own Marley

I just finished watching Marley and Me, and I ended up in tears. Anyone who doesn't cry at the end of that movie just doesn't have a heart. And it brought up some memories of my own Marley... a black and tan coonhound named Rebel.

Rebel was a beautiful dog. And kind natured. He was the best. He came into our lives when Jason was just about 4 years old and Rhys was a baby. We had just moved into our house, and I immediately said that no house is a home without a dog. We went looking for one.

I saw an ad in the paper for coonhound puppies, and took the long trek out to some God-forsaken place in the country, which I now know to be Shelby Forest. I had really wanted a bluetick, but these were black and tan, with a touch of bluetick. There were several puppies running around in the open on the property, but I took notice of the one off to the side all by himself. I went over to him, and saw the sad look in his eyes. It was clear that his brothers had been taken long ago, and he was the only boy left. I rubbed his head and asked him if he wanted to come home with me. He licked my hand, and stole my heart.

I put him in the cat carrier, which was the only restraint I had at the time, so he could take the long journey home. Once he got out, he was never small enough to get back in. He grew by leaps and bounds, and when all was said and done, he was a whopping 82 pounds of sleek, shiny black and tan. From the outside of the house, he looked like a pitbull to anyone approaching. He was menacing to intruders, but had a heart of gold.

Rebel used to love his weekly outings at the park. They have open leash day on Saturdays and we would put him in the back of the truck, where he would proudly howl his greeting to the people at the park, who would laugh and point at the beautiful black beauty who was so eager to announce his arrival. Once at the park, he was King. King of the Park. He took control of the track and field. He wouldn't venture into the water though. Coonhounds, by nature, do not go near the water, where a raccoon would drag them to drown them. True to form, he wouldn't go there. But oh, how he loved to run and have fun with the other dogs.

Once home, Rebel would eat, drink and lie down on the kitchen floor to rest. That floor must have been nice and cool compared to the summer heat, but I have a very small kitchen, and he took up the whole floor! I tripped over him more than once on many occasions.

Rebel began to have some health problems in his later years. Some cysts grew on him, and we took them off to make him comfortable. His beautiful coat scarred, we got the news that he had cancer. My poor, beautiful baby... and nothing could be done to help him except to keep him comfortable. And I tried. Really I did. He got weaker and weaker, but still he was happy.

The day after Valentine's Day, February 15, I came home to find Rebel out in the cold, wet weather, and called to him. He tried to get up, but sank back down. I ran over to him and called him again. His eyes told me the story. He had had enough. I called the vet immediately to ask if he would perform a euthanasia in a half hour. He agreed, and we took Rebel to the vet for the last time. He was in the back of the truck, where he loved to be, covered with a blanket to keep the rain off him.

On the table, the vet stroked him and said, "this was a good dog". I said "The Best" and gave him the go-ahead to put him down. I petted him and talked to him softly as the vet struggled to find a good vein. They had all collapsed. He slipped quietly away. My life hasn't been the same since.

Godspeed my beautiful, loyal friend. Here's to you. Thank you for all the love you gave me. Save me a spot. I love you.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta