Murphy took his last ride today and won't be coming home. He has been with us for about a dozen years. Pet, conversation piece, object of affectionate ridicule--all heart, no brain.
Adorable as a puppy, rescued from the heat and dust of a cage in Canton, he grew into an odd combination of short wooly and long wiry fur and gaping vacancy behind the eyes. Ken's aunt summed it up well: "Is that a dog?"
He has been called many names and compared to many creatures, chiefly rodents, real and cinematic (chiefly the R.O.U.S. variety.) For the last several months, Murphy's life has consisted of eat, sleep, fart, leave "presents" on the carpet, and dig in the yard. The backyard looks like a scene from Holes.
Still, he lived and loved. His grip on our hearts is not as tight as Chester's was, but I will miss him.
