I went with my parents to see "Marley and Me" last night.
If you've never had a lab, there are things you don't quite connect with the same way. Fortunately for me, we had one. I was young when he died, so I don't recall some of his key moments (like when he pulled a five-pound box of nails of the shelf in the garage and started chewing through it). But I do recall running with him, camping, playing with my red wagon and my cowboys, and generally getting licked all over. I was old enough to know that he was indeed the best dog ever. I have loved our later dogs too, but he will always be special.
I didn't cry when they put Marley down. But I cried when their oldest son Patrick put in the home video and started watching scenes of himself as a little boy, with Marley always in the picture. I remembered exactly how I felt when Barnaby died. I didn't have a video to play (no VHS) but no matter. That's the first time I can remember crying. It was my first experience with death. And it was the first time my life flashed before my eyes: a little piece of me died that day, too. At least through memory, and cute dog movies, a little piece of him lives on.
I didn't cry when they put Marley down. But I cried when their oldest son Patrick put in the home video and started watching scenes of himself as a little boy, with Marley always in the picture. I remembered exactly how I felt when Barnaby died. I didn't have a video to play (no VHS) but no matter. That's the first time I can remember crying. It was my first experience with death. And it was the first time my life flashed before my eyes: a little piece of me died that day, too. At least through memory, and cute dog movies, a little piece of him lives on.
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