In Memory of Marley 199?-2008

Marley came to us not as a “little ball of fur” as everyone quaintly describes their puppy. He came to us a hulking boulder of fur. He was a yellow lab a couple years old and his previous owners had him be yard buddies with a goat, as Marley probably painfully remembers. He ran like a wild horse set loose on the plains when he entered our three quarter acre backyard. We would fondly call him “the big brute” as an ironic nickname to our own gentle giant.
Though he has a big head, Marley doesn’t seem to use it all the time. He can chase after an invisible ball five times before starting to realize that you only have a clenched fist. He got a little smarter when you had an actual toy because he could see those better. It seems that all of Marley’s brain is devoted to the searching and obtaining of food. Even all the games he plays involve food. There’s “find the pecan”, where we hide one pecan in a humongous pile of leaves and let Marley find it. So far, Marley is undefeated in this seemingly pointless game when he could just as easily find pecan only a few feet away from the pile. I guess he does it for the glory. Another game Marley enjoys is catch. Marley doesn’t catch tennis balls and Frisbees like all the other dogs, he only catches anything edible. So far I haven’t seen any food touch the ground as long as it’s within range of his Grand Canyon mouth. He does have likes and dislikes with food, but anything that is thrown up must be caught, and if it doesn’t taste or smell good, he spits it out after the catch.
Though gentle, Marley can be harsh, but only if you happen to walk by our yard, which borders a busy neighborhood street . As you come within sight of our yard, you would hear a rustle in the leaves if it’s fall, but otherwise a subtle rustle in the grass. Then out of nowhere comes a roar like cracking thunder loud enough to make grown men scream. It may be not exactly that loud, It certainly has scared many neighborhood girls as heard from a high-pitched scream harmonizing with the low, thundering bark. Through all his trumped-up ferocity, Marley would stop barking at his most beloved targets, teenage punks, as long as they gave him food. Unfortunately for Marley, no teenage punks have given him food yet, though he has gotten a few ham bones, as I hear every once in a while.
I can never say that I have seen Marley grow up. He was always big. There was a time when I was small enough to ride Marley like an awkward, yellow mule, but he is and always will be big. Though I may not have seen him grow physically, I have seen our little puppy grow mentally, somewhat. He has learned the tricks “sit” and “lay down”, which he defines as “you can now sit or lay down and start grooming yourself.” From day one he learned to let himself out by nudging the door with his nose, but now he has learned that if the door can’t be opened with the nose, it won’t help to repeatedly ram the door like medieval invaders. Marley can also talk now. If you have food in your hand and you ask politely, “Marley, what’s on top of a house?” he will impatiently say “roof, roof.” The R may sound a little like a W, but he always answers correctly.
In addition to all his tricks, Marley is also very useful around the house, besides maker of the lake of drool on the tile. When my dad fails to wake me up, Marley picks up the slack and gets the job done. I have woken up many mornings to Marley breath and a lick in the face. He works better than any alarm clock I have ever had. Marley can also catch mice, as he probably once did. I never saw this, but I personally think that my dad made up the story just so he can brag a little about Marley, who doesn’t have the best skills to begin with. The best use for Marley is food picker-upper. Once I had some friends over and some popcorn spilled on the floor. I instantly sent for my Hoover in the backyard and he got the job done in record time. The dog is a man’s best friend and a man’s best vacuum.
Until this point, I have portrayed my dog as a valiant dog who is willing to clean up any mess and bark at anyone that crosses his path. Though this is true, Marley is also a scared wuss when it comes to storms. Even if there is no lightning, Marley will act as if the storm is Armageddon as long as there is rain or heavy winds. Now rain is already pretty scary, but put in some thunder, and Marley will hyperventilate like a sprinter at the end of his race, times two. The only thing that could calm him down is letting him and his wet-dog smell inside. The only setback, besides the wet-dog smell, is that he will never go outside on his own will until the storm is in another state, preferably Oregon. This results in my mom wanting “that dang dog out now!”, and me and my brothers having to either go outside in hopes of Marley following us, or tricking him with mass amounts of food.
Over all these quirks and fallacies, the one trait that is dominant in my Marley is his happiness. Now everyone may say “you can’t really tell if he’s happy all the time, he can’t talk to you.” That is where everyone is wrong. I know Marley can’t talk to me, but he can tell me things. He tells me daily “lets play” when he barks a certain way. He doesn’t even tell me when he just needs a person to lean on and scratch his ear, he just comes up to me and props himself against me. He always has a smile on his face and always has a wagging tail that could generate enough energy for a small town. A dog is a man’s best friend because a dog is always constant and doesn’t care who you are or how you act, he’s always there wagging his tail when you come home. Thank God they can’t really talk.