He wasn't really my uncle, being a dog and all, but I'd known him for all 15 years of his life. He had many nicknames. MD, Marty Mutt, Marty Dog, etc. His human, my best friend Valerie, is grieving right now. He had as much trouble letting go of her as she had in letting go of him.

Sometime early this year he was diagnosed with a fast-growing tumor. Valerie is a nurse and has seen the pain and suffering of the elderly who go through complicated surgical procedures late in life, only to spend their last days in hospital beds confused and disoriented due to the effects of the anesthesia on their frail bodies. She decided she didn't want to put her best pal through that, and decided on a course of doggie hospice.

Marty's last days were probably the best of his life. Out went the dry dog food and in came the hamburgers, steaks, and yummy smelly canned dog food. Out went the rules of no jumping onto the couch or the bed though later, as the tumor progressed, he needed help to get his hindquarters onto the couch. I visited and brought toys and yummy food and he got lots of attention. He even made a trip out to the beach to enjoy the surf with Valerie and the horses. Through it all he was one happy, grinning dog.

That's how we knew we'd know when it was his time. Marty always had more lives than a cat. He'd survived being abandoned as a puppy, nearly getting euthanized, heartworms and getting shot. (Yes, he took a bullet once, from some sickos cruising the rural streets.) He defended his human from a snarling, charging Rottweiller over twice his size, and was her emotional support through high school, college and her ex-husband.

At first he probably though he was a cat, since his puppy days were spent with a beautiful and equally intelligent Maine Coon cat. Then I guess he decided he was human. Some days he'd turn those soulful brown eyes on you as if to ask "Aren't I just the greatest? Don't I deserve a treat just for being me?" He liked to dig. And dig and dig and dig. And he was a teacher He taught the one-legged dog, Chance, to dig bigger holes than he could.

He could size up another dog pretty well. Butch, the sweet-but-dumber-than-dirt "yaller dog" with the big paws was a perfect "Pinky" to Marty's "Brain". He taught Butch to dig holes under the fence so Marty could go out and roam the neighborhood. (While Butch stayed and stood guard at the hole.) And then there was Laddie, my dog. Marty could see a kindred spirit (and another intelligent dog) when he saw one, and soon the two of them were playing with chew toys and running through Val's place like a thundering herd of buffaloes.

Through it all he kept his mischievous grin, his expressive eyes and his rather intelligent and vibrant personality. We knew that the day he no longer cared about the previously forbidden couch, or no longer cared about eating - the day he lost his grin, would be the day.

That day was yesterday. I feel lucky that Val suggested that I come up and visit Marty in September. I got a chance to say goodbye to a friend who's (mis)adventures I'd been privy to for the past 15 years. It was a bit scary too, since I could see the extent of the tumor and knew that it would be the last time I'd see him. He was indeed still happy and mobile at that point, and so eager to have his cheeseburger he almost forgot about human fingers. :-)

But last week he started having some problems and though a trip to the vet took care of some, it was apparent by early this week that it wasn't enough. He'd been staying close to Val, following her to every room, but now he wanted her even closer and the interest in food was going, the grin was gone. Being a hospice nurse, Val can recognize the signs of dying. He kept trying not to go to sleep, waking himself up as he nodded off to stay with his human, but it was his time.

Sweet dreams Marty. Tell Laddie "hi" for me.

A poem: Tribute To A Best Friend

I made this recently for my co-workers and it came out beautifully so I thoguht I'd share. I used a recipe from "The Encyclopedia of American Food & Drink" and added some of my own touches:

Sweet Potato Pie

1 lb sweet potatoes
3/4 c brown sugar
1/4 t salt
1 t ground cinnamon
1/2 t nutmeg
1/4 t ground cloves
3 eggs
3/4 c milk
3/4 c heavy cream
1 T butter
1 pie plate lined with pastry crust (I used Mrs. Smith's 9" deep dish homestyle pie crusts.)

Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees. Poke a bunch of holes in the sweet potatoes with a fork, then microwave on high for 10 minutes. Allow to cool for 5 minutes. Cut in half and scoop out the meat inside into a large bowl and beat till smooth. Blend in the brown sugar, salt and spices. Beat in the eggs, milk and heavy cream and then beat in the butter. Pour into pie crust, leaving about a half inch space from the top. Bake at 400 degress for about 40-45 minutes or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.

I think the cream is important and I use one type in all my ice creams and in this pie. It's a product of Holland, "Dairytime" or "DairyLand" pure cream. Since I get mine from Phonecia it's got Arabic writing all over it.

Printable version
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