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Murray
The story of a dog
By; Tory Shane Quinton
Hey Buddy! Here ya go buddy! It was supper time and Michael was setting a dish out for his best friend, who was a dog. Not any dog mind you, and Michael would frequently correct people who made this error, but a dog of singular good nature and zest for life that despite age had not diminished. His name was Murray and when he heard his master calling he came running, his paws slipping and sliding on the floor in a clumsy way that recalled his puppy days. Murray always came running, not for his food, which was nice but for another chance to be near the man who adopted him so long ago. He remembered it well, even though people say dogs don’t really remember things like that.
It was not long after he was taken away from his mother and put in a glass case in a store that sold everything from cats and birds and lizards to other dogs like him. Murray hated it there and cried and pawed against the glass, which most people took to be happiness and a desire to play, especially the children who tugged at his ears and made him uncomfortable in ways not common to a dog. He just never got on with children which is why he was so glad when a lone man tapped on his glass and smiled. They played together in a little room, getting acquainted with one another. Murray was so excited he peed a little bit on the man trousers and cowered in the corner, ashamed, embarrassed and certain this nice man would go away angry with him but the man didn’t leave. He smiled and laughed and picked the puppy up in his large hands and looked him in the eyes. Well now, if your going to go home with me your gonna have to learn to control that huh little Buddy. The puppy, of course did not know what the man said but the smile on his face and the way he held him were clear signals that a bond was forming.
That first night in a new place was terrifying and Murray, who did not have a name yet kept close to his new master and when night fell and the house was dark Murray whined until he was lifted up onto the bed where he nuzzled beneath the covers, his cold nose pressed against Michaels warm side. Over the years, Michael would say he regretted that first night, when he let the dog in the bed but every night he would pat the bed, telling Murray it was alright to come up. Eventually Michaels stopped inviting and Murray stopped asking. It was a routine into which they both entered. Routines were always important to Murray; the daily walks, the Saturday at the park, the car rides. Oh the car rides were the best, even though it was getting difficult for Murray to get in the car on his own.
The vet, that was the one routine he hated, diagnosed Murray with something called Hip Dysplasia. Murray didn’t understand what it meant but the pains were as abundant and obvious as were his graying coat and the dulling of his once sharp eyes. Years past and this only worsened. The routines of daily walks and Saturdays at the park became, well, less routine as Murray took to spending more and more time sleeping. Not that it mattered. Michael was getting older too and had taken to sitting in his easy chair nearby. A couple of time he had gone off for a few days after he felt his chest and called for someone to help him. When this happened Murray was taken care of by one of the neighbors, who were happy to do it, for such a good dog, but he always missed Michael and never slept so well without him.
One day, it was a Sunday it happened again. Michael put his hand to his chest and held it for a moment, breathing heavily. Murray knew something as wrong and so sat next to him, placing his head down on Michaels lap for reassurance, or maybe to be reassured a little himself. It passed while he was on the telephone but not long after he hung up it struck again, this time harder. Michael clenched at his chest and gasped, falling to his knees where he swayed back and forth. Then he fell forward with a thud. Murray knew this was different, more desperate and he nudged Michael on the head, licking his face gently at first, then frantically, his tail wagging with anxiety. The Door bell rang and Murray barked. It rang again and Murray ran to it, scratching at the door, his yelping was now desperate and afraid. The men on the other side of the door turned and were glad to discover it was unlocked. They were wearing blue uniforms and carried bags. When they saw a man lying on the floor they rushed to his side and began doing things which Murray didn’t understand but he knew they were trying to help his master so he stayed back, trembling, occasionally coming closer as if to check on the situation. He walked out behind the men who put Michael on a rolling bed but when he tried to jump into the red truck with the flashing light he was pushed back. Im sorry fella, you cant come with us, we need to help him get better. It didn’t matter any way; Murray’s legs gave out when he tried to climb up. They drove off leaving him alone so Murray, very sad went back in the house like he was supposed to and curled up next to Michael’s easy chair and waited. Several hours later, the door opened up but Murray didn’t feel like going to see who it was. It was the front door and Michael never went in and out so it wasn’t Michael coming back home. It was Mary, the nice lady who took care of Murray when Michael was away. She was crying and her mascara had started to run down her cheeks making her look like a very forlorn clown. That's when Murray knew he was really alone.
The story of a dog
By; Tory Shane Quinton
Hey Buddy! Here ya go buddy! It was supper time and Michael was setting a dish out for his best friend, who was a dog. Not any dog mind you, and Michael would frequently correct people who made this error, but a dog of singular good nature and zest for life that despite age had not diminished. His name was Murray and when he heard his master calling he came running, his paws slipping and sliding on the floor in a clumsy way that recalled his puppy days. Murray always came running, not for his food, which was nice but for another chance to be near the man who adopted him so long ago. He remembered it well, even though people say dogs don’t really remember things like that.
It was not long after he was taken away from his mother and put in a glass case in a store that sold everything from cats and birds and lizards to other dogs like him. Murray hated it there and cried and pawed against the glass, which most people took to be happiness and a desire to play, especially the children who tugged at his ears and made him uncomfortable in ways not common to a dog. He just never got on with children which is why he was so glad when a lone man tapped on his glass and smiled. They played together in a little room, getting acquainted with one another. Murray was so excited he peed a little bit on the man trousers and cowered in the corner, ashamed, embarrassed and certain this nice man would go away angry with him but the man didn’t leave. He smiled and laughed and picked the puppy up in his large hands and looked him in the eyes. Well now, if your going to go home with me your gonna have to learn to control that huh little Buddy. The puppy, of course did not know what the man said but the smile on his face and the way he held him were clear signals that a bond was forming.
That first night in a new place was terrifying and Murray, who did not have a name yet kept close to his new master and when night fell and the house was dark Murray whined until he was lifted up onto the bed where he nuzzled beneath the covers, his cold nose pressed against Michaels warm side. Over the years, Michael would say he regretted that first night, when he let the dog in the bed but every night he would pat the bed, telling Murray it was alright to come up. Eventually Michaels stopped inviting and Murray stopped asking. It was a routine into which they both entered. Routines were always important to Murray; the daily walks, the Saturday at the park, the car rides. Oh the car rides were the best, even though it was getting difficult for Murray to get in the car on his own.
The vet, that was the one routine he hated, diagnosed Murray with something called Hip Dysplasia. Murray didn’t understand what it meant but the pains were as abundant and obvious as were his graying coat and the dulling of his once sharp eyes. Years past and this only worsened. The routines of daily walks and Saturdays at the park became, well, less routine as Murray took to spending more and more time sleeping. Not that it mattered. Michael was getting older too and had taken to sitting in his easy chair nearby. A couple of time he had gone off for a few days after he felt his chest and called for someone to help him. When this happened Murray was taken care of by one of the neighbors, who were happy to do it, for such a good dog, but he always missed Michael and never slept so well without him.
One day, it was a Sunday it happened again. Michael put his hand to his chest and held it for a moment, breathing heavily. Murray knew something as wrong and so sat next to him, placing his head down on Michaels lap for reassurance, or maybe to be reassured a little himself. It passed while he was on the telephone but not long after he hung up it struck again, this time harder. Michael clenched at his chest and gasped, falling to his knees where he swayed back and forth. Then he fell forward with a thud. Murray knew this was different, more desperate and he nudged Michael on the head, licking his face gently at first, then frantically, his tail wagging with anxiety. The Door bell rang and Murray barked. It rang again and Murray ran to it, scratching at the door, his yelping was now desperate and afraid. The men on the other side of the door turned and were glad to discover it was unlocked. They were wearing blue uniforms and carried bags. When they saw a man lying on the floor they rushed to his side and began doing things which Murray didn’t understand but he knew they were trying to help his master so he stayed back, trembling, occasionally coming closer as if to check on the situation. He walked out behind the men who put Michael on a rolling bed but when he tried to jump into the red truck with the flashing light he was pushed back. Im sorry fella, you cant come with us, we need to help him get better. It didn’t matter any way; Murray’s legs gave out when he tried to climb up. They drove off leaving him alone so Murray, very sad went back in the house like he was supposed to and curled up next to Michael’s easy chair and waited. Several hours later, the door opened up but Murray didn’t feel like going to see who it was. It was the front door and Michael never went in and out so it wasn’t Michael coming back home. It was Mary, the nice lady who took care of Murray when Michael was away. She was crying and her mascara had started to run down her cheeks making her look like a very forlorn clown. That's when Murray knew he was really alone.