I never really realised how ill Murphy was, I didn’t know that that little lump on his head that I mocked him for, was pressing on his brain. I always thought he had much more life in him; don’t get me wrong, I know he’s getting on a bit, but he’d still marginally be able to keep up with me as we used to trek up the hill and do the same old walk.
I don’t think I’m ready to let him go on Thursday. I always thought that it’d be him eating my washing garments as revenge for leaving him bored, that’d have done him. My Grandpops bought him for me when I was 11, and I’ll never forget his little face when I opened the kitchen door and saw him hiding behind the stool for the first time. I used to love it how I had to tie my hair up because he liked to chew it, and how I could cross my legs and he’s come and nestle in them. He’s deteriorated so much in the last 6 months, it’s heartbreaking.
I’ve laughed at him, shouted at him, ran with him, and he’s knocked me over a few times, but I couldn’t have wished for a better friend/hoover to get rid of my spills in the kitchen. To you, it’s probably just a dog; but to me above all else, he’s one of the only living memories left from when my Grandad wasn’t ill.
I’m going home to spend my last few days with him, it’s going to be hard.
This has to be one of the saddest things in life. My Boxer is the best dog ever, and they really aren’t “just dogs.” Boxers are one of the most loyal dogs ever. To have to let him go is awful. To have to let any animal go after years of love and friendship is hard.
Now I miss my big boy..can’t wait to go home and see him in a couple weeks.