Saints and Sweet Blonds

There’s no question that my life is markedly different since the arrival of Murphy. From the very moment I carried him home, last of the litter and the cutest wiggliest bundle of white fur you can imagine, Murphy began to reshape my existence, reset my priorities and re-jig my day to day schedule. Besides taking a nibble out of my pocket book in the first year with training, vet bills and dog walking services, he also ate his way through various couches and shoes, cell phones and reading glasses, fancy desserts made for dinner party guests, dining room chair legs and baseboards. More importantly than permanently taking over my house though, Murphy has forever stolen my heart. Sweet and very affectionate, goofy, utterly devoted, quiet with a big head made of concrete and a heart of gold, Murphy is a quite literally, one of the best decisions I ever made and a constant source of joy. He’s quite a dog. One who I realize now, had fairly big paws to fill.

As a young girl growing up, we had a giant dog named Sir Galahad. Taddy, as we kids called him, was the stuff of legends. A St. Bernard, weighing in at over 110 lb, when Galahad wasn’t jumping the fence in our backyard to tree nervous construction workers in the new subdivision where we lived, or leaning my young and precocious twin brother and sister against the wall to hold them in place til my Mom arrived, he spent his time as our pillow, playmate, punching bag and partner in crime. A true saint, he put up with five wild munchkins who showed their love by tugging on his tail, riding him, pulling his leash and hugging him way too tightly around this monstrous jowly neck. He returned our love with wet slobbery licks as he quietly endured all the affection. A month’s worth of blog entries would not be enough space to tell the tales of Sir Galahad of Hollowtree Crescent, but few childhood reminiscences are had in my family without some reference to our big boy.

I think of Galahad more often now than I did before I got Murphy. Although different breeds, sometimes I’d swear Murph is channeling Taddy. This is especially so when I see him around young kids or seniors. Not four yet, Murphy is still mostly puppy. He’s excited to be out and about and tugs on the leash when he’s up for a romp. But however pumped he is to be out walking, he sits like a good boy and endures pats on the head and the odd poke from kids who want to say hi. No matter how much he wants to walk, he obediently waits while my retired neighbours fill me in on their latest news and happily flops down at my feet as we settle into our usual Saturday morning coffee ritual. Most weekends in the good weather, we sit outside Starbucks reading the paper and enjoying some people watching. Dog central, there is plenty to distract, but Murphy unphased sighs patiently as I finish my coffee, taking in the view of those who saunter by. Even this morning, as a woman with two yappy pugs and a toy terrier tied up her dogs beside us, Murphy just looked up at me. When one of the dogs jumped up on the top of the table to see where his owner had gone, Murphy turned his head to look at the dog then looked at me, with a “will you check him out” look on his face.

Smiling, I patted Murphy and gave him a scratch in his favourite spot behind his ears. That’s what I like about big dogs, like Murph and Taddy. No need to bark and howl to get your attention. No nipping or growling. Comfortable enough in their 90 plus pounds of slobbery fur to know you love them, head in your lap or snoozing at your feet, they are dignified and quiet patience personified…. until at least, you pull out the treats!