RIP Baloo Murphy

Very Good Boy

There will be no Monday March 25th essay.

In a little over an hour, Baloo Murphy will make his final trip to the veterinarian. The soft tissue sarcoma between his rib cage and the skin—which has grown at an alarming rate since its discovery two months ago—has created a wound that gets worse with each passing day. Because he cannot reach it with his tongue in order to deliver nature’s healing solution to dog wounds—he licks his paws incessantly as a proxy. He is a few months shy of his 13th birthday, and while I try to comfort myself with the notion that he’s lived as full a life as my recently deceased 92 year-old father, the plain truth of the matter is that I remember his birth and virtually every day in between like it was yesterday. I am losing a not-quite-teenaged boy.

Baloo, in repose, with adopted sister Zuzu sitting beside him

Baloo was born of a litter of puppies birthed by Catherine’s mother’s dog Mallow. Catherine and the girls had been dogless for a few years, after the deaths of the two labs she and her late husband shared with their tiny babies. I had been in the picture for a few years by this time, and there really couldn’t have been a better situation for a little black puppy with big ears to come into, with his mother and a couple of siblings living across the farm and a family of four to love him. At the time, we were a family of two cats, Bagheera and Mowgli, so Baloo joined with his own Jungle Book inspired name.

We were renovating the place the summer we got him, and it was a constant struggle to keep him from nosing his way into places he ought not be. Two summers later, the demand signal from the other three humans in the house became so clear that we got Baloo a sister—Zuzu—and they have been fast companions these 11 years. We couldn’t agree on a good female Jungle Book name, so we settled on George Bailey’s daughter.

For 24 hours after we got Zuzu, Baloo was utterly fascinated with her. The poor little puppy was mercilessly pursued by a not quite two year old lab, the epitome of energy and spunk. I was really worried that he might inadvertently hurt her. Starting about hour 25 though, I needn’t have worried. From that point until this very hour, Zuzu has held her own and mostly exceeded his energy.

The Day General Dan brought his two black labs for a visit

Catherine and my hearts are breaking this morning, for ourselves, for Hope and Hannah (neither of whom is even in the country today let alone the house), for Baloo, and perhaps most of all for me—Zuzu. I think Zuzu is going to really miss her brother. It’s funny—we have these hard rubber “pickles” that we spritz a little doggy peanut butter into for a treat. She simply will not accept one until after he’s taken his. It will be interesting—and heart-breaking—to see her struggle with her first post-Baloo pickle.

We agreed last night that today would be the day, and I’d held it together until this morning, when I went to be with him. He was breathing quietly, his sad eyes seemingly more sad than usual. I think he knows he’s at the end; we’ve certainly discussed it. He’s listless, and just doesn’t like to move. I snuggled up next to him and just cried like a baby, the kind of cry where you wind up with tears and snot mixed up and dripping from your face. I talked with God a good bit about Baloo, and while I realize that God knows everything I passed along, I thought it might still be worthwhile to put a few good words in for him. Ironically though, it is I who hope for a few good words from Baloo.

The Next Day

Baloo is gone, and I am emptied.

At some point, I will appreciate and enjoy the morning walks with just Zuzu, a good girl who comes when she is called (mostly the first time) and who has boundless energy. Today was not that day. I missed Baloo’s casual indifference to my calls, his (of late, far more often) little rest periods, and his great interest in the droppings of other animals distant from our lane.

When Zuzu and I returned to the house, I took my spot next to the kitchen fireplace to think and pray, and I noticed that she was doing a slow lap around the kitchen into Catherine’s office, not a behavior I’d noted before. I think she misses her brother and was looking for him.

I will not go into the specifics of Baloo’s end, except to thank our Vet (Dr. Scott Thompson) and his staff for their supreme compassion. I knew it would be a tidal wave of emotion, and it was. The one thing that stood out most to me, was that when they brought Baloo back into the little room where we were from having a catheter inserted into his paw, the technician handed Catherine two little packages, each with two doggie Hershey’s kisses in them. His last, incredibly well-earned treats. I looked down and saw how they were labelled: “Good-bye Kisses”. I evaporated. I can barely type right now. Deciding to end Baloo’s life was the right decision, as keeping him going struck me as far more for our benefit than his. But my God—how devastatingly final that decision is. Once again, the stunning power of love is revealed most majestically in its absence.