Right after Alan and I got married, I instantly got the hankering for a dog. And while I was nervous about the commitment --- checking out books on dog ownership and various breeds from the library, even though I knew I wanted a pug --- Alan was much less gun shy. So when one day he said, “Let’s just stop talking about it; if we’re going to do it, let’s do it,” we did it. I called the breeder and we got lucky that there was a female fawn pug that would be available that weekend. It was meant to be.
We went to pick her up from her one-eyed mom, and as I was whispering that this place seemed slightly sketchy, Alan was cradling a tiny pug in his arms. There was no way we were leaving without this member of our family. On the way home, I remember looking over. Alan was asleep in the passenger’s seat, Marti snoozing comfortably on his lap. They were already fast friends.
As Marti was Alan’s first dog, he’d never had a living being dependent on him. He had a slight panic attack about it, but I assured him that we’d be fine; we’d be great puppy parents. And we were; she became the center of our little family.
Marti proceeded to be both an adorable puppy and a total beast. She’d eat my shoes. Bite my hands. She was nonstop puppy energy, no matter how much I walked her or played fetch. She’s the only puppy I know that wasn’t a napper --- because she didn’t want to miss out on anything. She always had more to dish out for me, especially those first two years. I always laugh because she would bite me with her sharp puppy teeth and make me cry with her incessant nipping at my hands. I remember wailing, “All I do is love you!” always hoping that she’d turn into the sweetness that she eventually turned into.
When Alan left to go up to Chicago for his internship the summer after we were married, Marti nuzzled her way into our bed. Pugs are the perfect cuddlers, and she snuggled right in with me during Alan’s absence. Once he returned, it was nearly impossible to implement the “no dog in bed” policy that we had previously followed; she was too snuggly to kick out and pretty soon we learned to work around her bed demands, whether it was to let her under the covers, to let her lay sideways while we made room for her or to sometimes just sit on me to show me who was boss.
When I started working from home, she became my full-time friend and best little pug buddy. She’d sit behind me in the chair, and I’d make way for her. She’d get up in my face and paw at my arm when she wanted a walk, a pet, nothing at all. It drove me mad trying to figure out how to appease her, but never mad enough to kick her out of the chair, God forbid.
We hit up pug meet-ups for laughs, hit the dog park every day. We’d laugh because she always proved she was the most submissive dog in the park, lying down to prove she was no threat to anyone, even dogs half her size and ---ahem --- presenting herself. If she was on a leash or across the street from a dog, it was a different story. Fierce, she was, and thought she could take down a Doberman. When we’d travel we’d do our best to find pet-friendly accommodations. And if that wasn’t possible, we spared no expense on pet hotels; some of her hotels were nicer than ours.
She went from Kansas to California with us, and California to New Jersey. She visited Lake Tahoe and Yosemite. She was a well-traveled pug, and traveled so well for us.
When we had kids, I knew Marti wouldn’t be the center of our attention any more. But she was still the middle of everything. Whether I was nursing or dealing with two kids battling for precious lap space, she’d always want to be right in the thick of it; I’d always accommodate. She was my little shadow and my most loyal friend. Always, always by my side. Coming upstairs with me even if I was simply grabbing something really quickly. Coming downstairs as I moved laundry, the never-ending chore. Under my feet always at dinner time, ready to snag anything I might drop, but mostly keeping me company. I was with her all day, every day. Waking hours, sleeping hours. Considering I worked from home, calling her a constant companion is practically an understatement.
She added to the complete chaos in the house --- barking like mad and driving me bonkers when we’d leave the house, always a fun accompaniment to kids who are screaming and not cooperating at all. Grabbing tissue out of the trashcan or ripping apart wet diapers I hadn’t tossed out of reach. The kids would splash in the bath and it would worry her --- so she’d bark to alert us to the fact that they must be in danger, even if we were right there. A constant watch dog, we always knew when something was amiss outside --- whether it was the mailman, a clap of thunder or a dog barking. And if the doorbell rang? Pure chaos. I’d have to chase Marti down to grab her; she got to greet everyone at the door from the safety of my arms. Much like at the dog park, she was only tough when she couldn't see who was on the other side of the door.
Marti went from being a non-napping puppy to the best napping companion one could have. During my exhausted first trimester this time around, she’d nap with me every day. It was our ritual --- get the kids down and go grab a snooze, either on the couch or in bed. She’d snuggle next to me; always fitting like a puzzle piece wherever she lay down, usually right behind my knees. She puzzled her way into all kinds of sleeping arrangements, and our lives.
And now, she’s gone. Gone in the blink of an eye; with one phone call from the vet that changed everything. They could finish surgery, but it wouldn’t help; it was best to let her go. So we made the easiest and hardest decision we’ve ever made. No suffering, but peace.
Now, I miss the chaos that drove me crazy. It’s too quiet. No claws and paws padding around the tiles and hardwoods. No pug snores at the foot of my bed, long sighs that were the most contented sound in the world. No pug coming up to my face at 3 a.m. to burrow her way down to my feet; how many times we’ve woken up over the years to make sure she had air to breathe, it’s too many times to count. No one greeting me at the door, with a stuffed animal always, to welcome me home. No one tackling the kids for their snacks --- she was a relentless beast and was notorious for stealing food from toddlers like candy from a baby. No half growls when she heard something outside but didn’t have the energy to get too worked up --- a little half puff of air to let us know she heard. I do headcounts now --- Avery, Owen, Marti --- and come up one short. Now, when the kids are tucked into bed and it’s quiet time for me and Alan, it’s just too quiet because there is an empty space at the end of the couch.
Even writing this, it doesn’t feel real. My writing feels forced, empty, as if I can’t possibly convey what that lovable little dog meant to me. A post isn’t enough. My Martikins. Marti Bean Soup. Gracious Beans. My Sweetness and Light. And my heart feels so heavy.
I’ve cried countless times over the years in preparation for this. I’d even think about it and be a blubbering mess. She was our first baby. I’d rub her fuzzy little muzzle and always say, “Don’t you go dying on us, Graysh.” And now it’s here, and we weren’t ready. You’re never ready. I wanted at least four more years, but I know had I gotten them, I would have wanted 10 more. With dogs, it’s never enough. Why do we put ourselves through it? Why do we knowingly jump in and fall in love with someone whom we have such limited time with? Why do we put ourselves through the heartbreak and tears and emptiness and quiet? Only because that unconditional love and friendship makes it worth all of the heartbreak.
