by John Grogan
Milk-Bones! That was it! She had Milk-Bone breath. But why? I wondered—and I actually heard a little voice ask the question in my head—Why has Jenny been eating Milk-Bones? And besides, I could feel her lips on my neck…How could she be kissing my neck and breathing in my face all at once? It didn’t make any—
Oh…my…God.
I opened my eyes. There, inches from my face, filling my entire frame of vision, loomed Marley’s huge head. His chin rested on the mattress, and he was panting up a storm, drool soaking into the sheets. His eyes were half closed—and he looked entirely too in love. “Bad dog!” I shrieked, recoiling across the bed. “No! No! Go to bed!” I frantically ordered. “Go to bed! Go lie down!” But it was too late. The magic was gone. The monastery was back.
At ease, soldier.
The next morning I made an appointment to take Marley in to have his balls cut off. I figured if I wasn’t going to have sex for the rest of my life, he wasn’t either. Dr. Jay said we could drop Marley off before we went to work and pick him up on our way home. A week later, that’s just what we did.
As Jenny and I got ready, Marley caromed happily off the walls, sensing an impending outing. For Marley, any trip was a good trip; it didn’t matter where we were going or for how long. Take out the trash? No problem! Walk to the corner for a gallon of milk? Count me in! I began to feel pangs of guilt. The poor guy had no idea what lay in store for him. He trusted us to do the right thing, and here we were secretly plotting to emasculate him. Did betrayal get any more treacherous than this?
“Come here,” I said, and wrestled him to the floor where I gave him a vigorous belly scratch. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll see. Sex is highly overrated.” Not even I, still rebounding from my bad run of luck the last couple of weeks, believed that. Who was I fooling? Sex was great. Sex was incredible. The poor dog was going to miss out on life’s single greatest pleasure. The poor bastard. I felt horrible.
And I felt even worse when I whistled for him and he bounded out the door and into the car with utter blind faith that I would not steer him wrong. He was revved up and ready to go on whatever excellent adventure I saw fit. Jenny drove and I sat in the passenger seat. As was his habit, Marley balanced his front paws on the center console, his nose touching the rearview mirror. Every time Jenny touched the brakes, he went crashing into the windshield, but Marley didn’t care. He was riding shotgun with his two best friends. Did life get any better than this?
I cracked my window, and Marley began listing to starboard, leaning against me, trying to catch a whiff of the outdoor smells. Soon he had squirmed his way fully onto my lap and pressed his nose so firmly into the narrow crack of the window that he snorted each time he tried to inhale. Oh, why not? I thought. This was his last ride as a fully equipped member of the male gender; the least I could do was give him a little fresh air. I opened the window wide enough for him to stick his snout out. He was enjoying the sensation so much, I opened it farther, and soon his entire head was out the window. His ears flapped behind him in the wind, and his tongue hung out like he was drunk on the ether of the city. God, was he happy.
As we drove down Dixie Highway, I told Jenny how bad I felt about what we were about to put him through. She was beginning to say something no doubt totally dismissive of my qualms when I noticed, more with curiosity than alarm, that Marley had hooked both of his front paws over the edge of the half-open window. And now his neck and upper shoulders were hanging out of the car, too. He just needed a pair of goggles and a silk scarf to look like one of those World War I flying aces.
“John, he’s making me nervous,” Jenny said.
“He’s fine,” I answered. “He just wants a little fresh—”
At that instant he slid his front legs out the window until his armpits were resting on the edge of the glass.
“John, grab him! Grab him!”
Before I could do anything, Marley was off my lap and scrambling out the window of our moving car. His butt was up in the air, his hind legs clawing for a foothold. He was making his break. As his body slithered past me, I lunged for him and managed to grab the end of his tail with my left hand. Jenny was braking hard in heavy traffic. Marley dangled fully outside the moving car, suspended upside down by his tail, which I had by the most tenuous of grips. My body was twisted around in a position that didn’t allow me to get my other hand on him. Marley was frantically trotting along with his front paws on the pavement.
Jenny got the car stopped in the outside lane with cars lining up behind us, horns blaring. “Now what?” I yelled. I was stuck. I couldn’t pull him back in the window. I couldn’t open the door. I couldn’t get my other arm out. And I didn’t dare let go of him or he would surely dash in the path of one of the angry drivers swerving around us. I held on for dear life, my face, as it were, scrunched against the glass just inches from his giant flapping scrotum.
Jenny put the flashers on and ran around to my side, where she grabbed him and held him by the collar until I could get out and help her wrestle him back into the car. Our little drama had unfolded directly in front of a gas station, and as Jenny got the car back into gear I looked over to see that all the mechanics had come out to take in the show. I thought they were going to wet themselves, they were laughing so hard. “Thanks, guys!” I called out. “Glad we could brighten your morning.”
When we got to the clinic, I walked Marley in on a tight leash just in case he tried any more smart moves. My guilt was gone, my resolve hardened. “You’re not getting out of this one, Eunuch Boy,” I told him. He was huffing and puffing, straining against his leash to sniff all the other animal smells. In the waiting area he was able to terrorize a couple of cats and tip over a stand filled with pamphlets. I turned him over to Dr. Jay’s assistant and said, “Give him the works.”
That night when I picked him up, Marley was a changed dog. He was sore from the surgery and moved gingerly. His eyes were bloodshot and droopy from the anesthesia, and he was still groggy. And where those magnificent crown jewels of his had swung so proudly, there was…nothing. Just a small, shriveled flap of skin. The irrepressible Marley bloodline had officially and forever come to an end.
CHAPTER 10
The Luck of the Irish
O ur lives increasingly were being defined by work. Work at the newspapers. Work on the house. Work around the yard. Work trying to get pregnant. And, nearly a full-time vocation in itself, work raising Marley. In many ways, he was like a child, requiring the time and attention a child requires, and we were getting a taste of the responsibility that lay ahead of us if we ever did have a family. But only to a degree. Even as clueless as we were about parenting, we were pretty sure we couldn’t lock the kids in the garage with a bowl of water when we went out for the day.
We hadn’t even reached our second wedding anniversary and already we were feeling the grind of responsible, grown-up, married life. We needed to get away. We needed a vacation, just the two of us, far from the obligations of our daily lives. I surprised Jenny one evening with two tickets to Ireland. We would be gone for three weeks. There would be no itineraries, no guided tours, no must-see destinations. Only a rental car, a road map, and a guide to bed-and-breakfast inns along the way. Just having the tickets in hand lifted a yoke from our shoulders.
First we had a few duties to dole out, and at the top of the list was Marley. We quickly ruled out a boarding kennel. He was too young, too wired, too rambunctious to be cooped up in a pen twenty-three hours a day. As Dr. Jay had predicted, neutering had not diminished Marley’s exuberance one bit. It did not affect his energy level or loony behavior, either. Except for the fact that he no longer showed an interest in mounting inanimate objects, he was the same crazed beast. He was way too wild—and too unpredictably destructive when panic set in—to pawn off at a friend’s house. Or even at an enemy’s house, for that matter. What we needed was a live-in dog-sitter. Obviously, not just anyone would do, especially given the challenges Marley presented. We needed someone who w
as responsible, trustworthy, very patient, and strong enough to reel in seventy pounds of runaway Labrador retriever.
We made a list of every friend, neighbor, and coworker we could think of, then one by one crossed off names. Total party boy. Scratch. Too absentminded. Scratch. Averse to dog drool. Scratch. Too mousy to control a dachshund let alone a Lab. Scratch. Allergic. Scratch. Unwilling to pick up dog droppings. Scratch. Eventually, we were left with just one name. Kathy worked in my office and was single and unattached. She grew up in the rural Midwest, loved animals, and longed to someday trade in her small apartment for a house with a yard. She was athletic and liked to walk. True, she was shy and a little on the meek side, which could make it hard for her to impose her will on alpha Marley, but otherwise she would be perfect. Best of all, she said yes.
The list of instructions I prepared for her couldn’t have been more painstakingly detailed were we leaving a critically ill infant in her care. The Marley Memo ran six full pages single-spaced and read in part:
FEEDING: Marley eats three times a day, one two-cup measure at each meal. The measuring cup is inside the bag. Please feed him when you get up in the morning and when you get home from work. The neighbors will come in to feed him mid-afternoon. This totals six cups of food a day, but if he’s acting famished please give him an extra cup or so. As you’re aware, all that food has to go somewhere. See POOP PATROL below.
VITAMINS: Each morning, we give Marley one Pet Tab vitamin. The best way to give it to him is to simply drop it on the floor and pretend he’s not supposed to have it. If he thinks it’s forbidden, he will wolf it down. If for some reason that doesn’t work, you can try disguising it in a snack.
WATER: In hot weather, it’s important to keep plenty of fresh water on hand. We change the water next to his food bowl once a day and top it off if it’s running low. A word of caution: Marley likes to submerge his snout in the water bowl and play submarine. This makes quite a mess. Also his jowls hold a surprising amount of water, which runs out as he walks away from the bowl. If you let him, he’ll wipe his mouth on your clothes and the couches. One last thing: He usually shakes after taking a big drink, and his saliva will fly onto walls, lampshades, etc. We try to wipe this up before it dries, at which time it becomes almost impossible to remove.
FLEAS AND TICKS: If you notice these on him, you can spray him with the flea and tick sprays we have left. We’ve also left an insecticide that you can spray on the rugs, etc., if you think a problem is starting. Fleas are tiny and fast, and hard to catch, but they seldom bite humans, we’ve found, so I wouldn’t be too concerned. Ticks are larger and slow and we do occasionally see these on him. If you spot one on him and have the stomach for it, just pick it off and either crush it in a tissue (you may need to use your fingernails; they’re amazingly tough) or wash it down the sink or toilet (the best option if the tick is engorged with blood). You’ve probably read about ticks spreading Lyme disease to humans and all the long-term health problems that can cause, but several vets have assured us that there is very little danger of contracting Lyme disease here in Florida. Just to make sure, wash your hands well after removing a tick. The best way to pick a tick off Marley is to give him a toy to hold in his mouth to keep him occupied, and then pinch his skin together with one hand while you use your fingernails of the other hand as pincers to pull the tick off. Speaking of which, if he gets too smelly, and you’re feeling brave, you can give him a bath in the kiddie pool we have in the backyard (for just that purpose), but wear a bathing suit. You’ll get wet!
EARS: Marley tends to get a lot of wax buildup in his ears, which if left untreated can lead to infections. Once or twice while we’re gone, please use cotton balls and the blue ear-cleaning solution to clean as much gunk out of his ears as you can. It’s pretty nasty stuff so make sure you’re wearing old clothes.
WALKS: Without his morning walk, Marley tends to get into mischief in the garage. For your own sanity, you may also want to give him a quick jaunt before bed, but that’s optional. You will want to use the choker chain to walk him, but never leave it on him when he’s unattended. He could strangle himself, and knowing Marley he probably would.
BASIC COMMANDS: Walking him is much easier if you can get him to heel. Always begin with him in a sitting position at your left, then give the command “Marley, heel!” and step off on your left foot. If he tries to lunge ahead, give him a sharp jerk on the leash. That usually works for us. (He’s been to obedience school!) If he’s off the leash, he usually is pretty good about coming to you with the command “Marley, come!” Note: It’s best if you’re standing and not crouched down when you call him.
THUNDERSTORMS: Marley tends to get a little freaked-out during storms or even light showers. We keep his sedatives (the yellow pills) in the cupboard with the vitamins. One pill thirty minutes before the storm arrives (you’ll be a weather forecaster before you know it!) should do the trick. Getting Marley to swallow pills is a bit of an art form. He won’t eat them like he does his vitamins, even if you drop them on the floor and pretend he shouldn’t have them. The best technique is to straddle him and pry his jaws open with one hand. With the other, you push the pill as far down his throat as you can get it. It needs to be past the point of no return or he will cough it back up. Then stroke his throat until he swallows it. Obviously, you’ll want to wash up afterward.
POOP PATROL: I have a shovel back under the mango tree that I use for picking up Marley’s messes. Feel free to clean up after him as much or as little as you like, depending on how much you plan to walk around the backyard. Watch your step!
OFF-LIMITS: We do NOT allow Marley to:
Get up on any piece of furniture.
Chew on furniture, shoes, pillows, etc.
Drink out of the toilet. (Best to keep lid down at all times, though beware: He’s figured out how to flip it up with his nose.)
Dig in the yard or uproot plants and flowers. He usually does this when he feels he’s not getting enough attention.
Go in any trash can. (You may have to keep it on top of the counter.)
Jump on people, sniff crotches, or indulge in any other socially unacceptable behavior. We’ve especially been trying to cure him of arm chewing, which, as you can imagine, not a lot of people appreciate. He still has a way to go. Feel free to give him a swat on the rump and a stern “No!”
Beg at the table.
Push against the front screen door or the porch screens. (You’ll see several have already been replaced.)
Thanks again for doing all this for us, Kathy. This is a giant favor. I’m not quite sure how we could have managed otherwise. Hope you and Marley become good pals and you are as entertained by him as we are.
I brought the instructions in to Jenny and asked if there was anything I had forgotten. She took several minutes to read them and then looked up and said, “What are you thinking? You can’t show her this.” She was waving them at me. “You show her this and you can forget about Ireland. She’s the only person we could find willing to do this. If she reads this, that’s it. She’ll start running and won’t stop until she hits Key West.” Just in case I had missed it the first time around, she repeated: “What on earth were you thinking?”
“So you think it’s too much?” I asked.
But I’ve always believed in full disclosure, and show it to her I did. Kathy did flinch noticeably a few times, especially as we went over tick-removal techniques, but she kept any misgivings to herself. Looking daunted and just a little green, but far too kind to renege on a promise, she held fast. “Have a great trip,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”
Ireland was everything we dreamed it would be. Beautiful, bucolic, lazy. The weather was gloriously clear and sunny most days, leading the locals to fret darkly about the possibility of drought. As we had promised ourselves, we kept no schedules and set no itineraries. We simply wandered, bumping our way along the coast, stopping to stroll or shop or hike or quaff Guinness or simply gaze out at the ocean. We stoppe
d the car to talk to farmers bringing in their hay and to photograph ourselves with sheep standing in the road. If we saw an interesting lane, we turned down it. It was impossible to get lost because we had no place we needed to be. All of our duties and obligations back home were just distant memories.
As evening approached each day, we would begin looking for a place to spend the night. Invariably, these were rooms in private homes run by sweet Irish widows who doted on us, served us tea, turned down our sheets, and always seemed to ask us the same question, “So, would you two be planning to start a family soon?” And then they would leave us in our room, flashing back knowing, oddly suggestive smiles as they closed the door behind them.
Jenny and I became convinced there was a national law in Ireland that required all guest beds to face a large, wall-mounted likeness of either the pope or the Virgin Mary. Some places provided both. One even included an oversized set of rosary beads that dangled from the headboard. The Irish Celibate Traveler Law also dictated that all guest beds be extremely creaky, sounding a rousing alarm every time one of its occupants so much as rolled over.
It all conspired to create a setting that was about as conducive to amorous relations as a convent. We were in someone else’s home—someone else’s very Catholic home—with thin walls and a loud bed and statues of saints and virgins, and a nosy hostess who, for all we knew, was hovering on the other side of the door. It was the last place you would think to initiate sex. Which, of course, made me crave my wife in new and powerful ways.
We would turn off the lights and crawl into bed, the springs groaning under our weight, and immediately I would slip my hand beneath Jenny’s top and onto her stomach.
