My First Daughter

My friend Janelle has a wry, dry wit. She was the first person I farmed with, before I met the X. Actually, I met the X at Janelle's farm; he was working for her then. She introduced me to him. I had recently quit my job at the university library and was doing an extended volunteer stint on Janelle's organic vegetable farm. I was still married to my first husband, but not for long.

Anyway, it was Janelle who said my dog Marley would always be my first daughter. She had said this when I was pregnant and none of us knew whether the baby I carried was a girl or a boy. For my part, I was positive he was a boy. So much for that kind of intuition, eh?

Marley was half purebred yellow Lab and half what I called 'wild dog of the Helderbergs'. Her father was apparently some rambling black Shepherd mix who met her mom when her mom was in her first heat ever. Marley came out brindled, mostly black with wavy golden stripes, floppy ears, a long tail, and a ridge of fur running straight down her muzzle to her nose. She was my girl, my puppy, my love. I adored her. She went with me to as many places as I could take her and I never, ever had to worry about her running away. She always stayed close by my side. If she was out in the yard, and I looked out the window, she would immediately turn my way, alert to the fact I was seeking her with my eyes. Me and Marley, we were tight. We slept together, we rambled the woods and fields together, rode in the car, visited friends, went camping and explored the world.

When I left my first husband, and ended up with the X, he put a wedge between Marley and me. No longer were we allowed to sleep together. She had to stay outside with his dog, Yoko, in the dog pen. Marley didn't like that, and neither did I, and so, for the longest time, Marley slept in my car. It was familiar space to her and it smelled like us. She liked that. Eventually he relented so that the dogs could sleep in the house, and then they had their own beds downstairs--but they were not even allowed to come into the bedroom. And I did not dare invite her in.

But during the day, as I worked in the greenhouse and fields outside, we were inseperable. People often commented when they came to the farm that if you wanted to find me, you just had to look for the dogs. We were always all together, the 3 of us.

I know now what I could never have known then, that it is a terrible mistake to sacrifice a loving, loyal dog for the love of a man who shuts that dog out of your room. Doesn't that sound silly and stupid and obvious in hindsight? Because she always loved me, and he didn't. I will never do that again. Ever. Because all her life, even to the very end of her life, even after I had left her behind, she trusted me absolutely and completely.

Maybe I should not have left her behind when I left him. That was a very difficult decision and I am still not sure if I would have done it differently. Because Yoko loved Marley so much and I did not want to break them up. Also, Marley was so old (13--old for a large dog) and out of it by the time I left, I thought she would be okay without me.

About a year after I had left, my daughter was having her bi-monthly weekend visit with her father. She was 9 then. She called me on the phone to tell me Marley had collapsed and could not get up. She was very upset and crying. I said I would be right over. I got into my old Ford station wagon and drove the 5 miles to his place. I asked him to help me lift Marley into the back of my car, and he refused at first, saying it would hurt his back. I told him I could not lift her myself, and pleaded with him to help me, and he finally did.

As I drove her to the vet, I sang to her all the way over. This is what I sang:

'Midnight has come
I hear music
And I'll keep on singing'

over and over again.

When we got to the vet, I went inside and was relieved to see my friend Sue who worked as a vet technician was working that day, and she came out to the car with me to get Marley. We carried her inside and got her up on an examining table. The vet, another very kindly woman I had known for many years, came in and examined Marley thoroughly with kind and competent hands, and finally told me they could probably put her on fluids and stabilize her, but she would not get better. She said dogs can mask their illnesses for quite some time, and by the time they collapse like this, they are pretty far gone. As was Marley. She left it up to me to decide whether I would have Marley euthanized, but she was supportive and loving as I grappled with the decision.

And so we would put my girl Marley to sleep, as we call it to tell the kids. As the vet went and prepared the injection of sodium phenobarbitol, I stroked Marley's soft silky head and ears and spoke softly to her. She had been quivering the whole time we had been there. I stroked her and whispered in her ear that she was a very good girl and she was going home soon. As I whispered to her, she became calm and stopped shaking. By the time the vet administered the injection, she was relaxed in my arms, ready to go home.

The X told me a week or so later that he was awakened in the night by the sound of Yoko, howling mournfully, missing her dear companion Marley.

Her ashes are in a box. I keep it in my bedroom, right beside my bed.

Until next time, I remain, your friend, Rozenkraai