Murphy Dog: c. 1995 - 4-Jul-2009

(Note: The following was written on 4-6-09. Thus published a day late)

I'm glad I'm not one for drinking in pubs of a night. Because Jim's is really my 'Local', these days. And Murphy was Jim's Dog.

That is to say, he was specifically Jim's Dog. But he kind of 'belonged to' the local town. Or, as Murphy Dog plainly saw it; The town belonged to Him. He was a very major 'Face' there. Without question the best known ~ and 'loved' Dog we had.

Just late last year (first thing this year?) we had a couple of Zebra Crossings installed. About as much point as an air conditioning unit in a garden. People drive with a bit of consideration, through town. Motors are as likely to slow to a walk and let ye cross. Suicide by Motor Strike could take a man a Long time down there.

I suspect much of that is to do with everyone looking out for Murphy. The little, black and white " Jack Russell " who behaved like he was the No. 1 'Made Man' of the town.

Here's a glimpse at a day in the life of Murphy, as seen from outside his head: Wake up, god knows where. But certainly somewhere warm, comfortable, and close to Jim. Be let into the pub. Bark at the front, or back, door. Be let out.

Murphy might then hobble (He had such 'Queen Ann' front legs, his gait was all fucked up at the front) either straight round to the other door, and bark to be let back in again. Or he might decide to take a tour of the town. In which case he'd piss up the tires of selected motors. Look out for the occasional, other Dog to follow. Or just plain stand there, barking. Just because.

Step into Jim's pub, for a pint, and expect to see Murphy shortly. He'd be on the plush sofa which, not so long ago, materialised at the end of the bar. He claimed that the day it materialised ~ Though he often as not needed a hand down from it. Or, if a fire was on? He'd be in front of it. If a comfortable mat was catching rays? There'd be Murphy Dog; Flat out on that mat. Last place and time I ever saw him. Yesterday afternoon.

If he wasn't 'in position', during his daily shift? He'd be out, pissing on stationary motors tyres. Walking, like royalty, in front of oncoming ones. Or, perhaps, following me around.

Yeppers. Murphy and me had a thing going on. The moment I turned up, he'd follow me out the door every time. And I use Jim's as a staging post. I hit town. Shop a bit. Drop my bags at Jim's and order a pint. Then I duck in and out as I shoot off to other shops. Always bringing my next bags back to Jim's. Always going out to another shop, for what ever they sold, at another end of the four roads.

Murphy Dog was fucking murder. He'd follow me like a lamb. Every body noticed this. Hard not to. It was as if I had the fucker on an invisible lead. I tried to slip into the newsagents? He'd slip in as the first person stepped out. Then he'd piss on the crisp packets. I went to the butchers? In he'd come. Straight behind the counter, looking for scraps. This was Murphy's town and he feared no ill.

Why did he stick to me, like shit to a blanket? Simple enough. Nothing to do with 'I have a way with Dogs'. Or, 'Dogs take to me'. Or any of the other pseudo bullshit some people like to spout, or imagine others may be spouting about them, behind their backs.

Murphy Dog became my shadow, about a year and a half ago, quite simply because I gave him some Meat. And That is how come the damn Dog became my absolute shadow, ever since. Well; That and the fact that I made a point, about once a week since, when I hit town, to give him a little taster of flesh and bone.

I actually gave up feeding Murphy his 'Treats' about eight months ago. After something happened about Murphy coming into the pub with some scrap of meat he'd picked up god knows where. And Jim took it away from him. Explaining to some other customer about how meat had made him sick or shit everywhere before. I never really quite caught it.

Whether some putrid scrap had upset his stomach, or if my little slips of fresh stuff, sliced off my own Dogs dinners had conflicted with his " Complete Diet " sustained system? Who knows. But a few tastes of raw flesh had the little fiend embarrassingly fixated on me.

But, there it is. Murphy Dog dropped dead in the street today. The light's gone out of Jims eyes and he, for once, happily accepted the Jameson I offered him ~ and I wasn't the first. No way will I have been the last.

If money could buy that poor man relief from what he must be feeling, right now? I'd pay it for him. Gladly. But, money ~ no amount of it ~ can buy us love. And how Jim Loved that little Dog of his.And now he's lost him. And I'm glad I don't have to sit and watch the poor man trying to hold it together. I watched him for just minutes today. And the empathy I felt nearly broke my heart.