I am having a very difficult time today letting go.
This morning I received an e-mail from the family who homed Murphy, a puppy from Emily's most recent litter. Those puppies will be one year old on September 30. Except that yesterday Murphy (not his new name) was hit and killed by a car.
I know how devastating such a loss is. My daughter's English Shepherd (the one who inspired me to raise and breed them over twelve years ago) died the same way. It took my daughter a week to be able to call me about it. I still cannot bring myself to calling Murphy's family. Thank god for e-mail--that distanced form of communication that can express sorrow without dripping with tears.
My tears are for Murphy and for my sense of loss--but more than that they are for Murphy's family. This was a family who had been in contact with me months before Murphy was born. They were the first ones I called when the puppies were born and they came and visited Murphy many, many times after he was born before he was old enough to go home with them.
They didn't stop there. Knowing how much I miss these little buggers after they leave our house, Murphy's family kept in contact, e-mailed me photos and gave me updates on his progress--the joys and the frustrations of the first year of raising a puppy.
Most of us have lost dogs at one time or another--sometimes several dogs over the years--and it is never, ever a good day. Who knows at which point in a dog's life it is easier or more difficult to say goodbye? When they are still puppies pulling at their leashes and licking our faces--or when their muzzles are grey and their movements are stunted with arthritis and age?
What point is there in discussing this? What I do know is that my heart burns for Murphy and the couple who took him into a loving home--the kind of home that I, as a breeder, long for.
This isn't the last time I have heard that one of my puppies has reached the rainbow bridge early in life. And he won't be the last. And every time I get the news I am sure I will shed tears like I did this morning.
Goodbye Murphy. You were in my home for eight short weeks--but you will be in my heart forever.
