Marley and Amos and Me

Well, I did it: I saw Marley and Me.

Amos

This was no easy task for me. My own dog, Amos, a 90-pound golden retriever who would fall into the “helluva dog” category, died in the summer of 2007. He was undoubtedly my truest friend.

So when I sat down to watch this movie, I knew full well that I’d be a blubbery mess. Especially since both my mother and father had reported to me: “Don’t see it. I cried like a baby.”

Good lord, they weren’t kidding: I started crying when the movie studio intro started playing. By the end, I was sobbing uncontrollably in a monstrous display of saline, while my snot and mascara raced to the bottom of my chin.

So the question is, was it worth it? Did it help me get over the loss of my pup?

Well, no. Seeing up-close shots of puppy-killer being injected into poor Marley didn’t cathartically heal the wounds of holding Amos’ face against mine while the vet put him down in our kitchen. That part, I couldn’t even watch.

But I guess there’s some silver lining: I found some writerly inspiration in John Grogan, the Philadelphia Inquirer columnist who wound up writing a book about this scoundrel of a canine.

So now, my thoughts turn to Amos.

Me torturing Sarge

I was 10 when we got him. My childhood dog, Sarge, had just passed away, and since my brother and sister were both in college, that just left me, Mom and Dad at home. So one day, my siblings brought home a surprise. It was my dad’s birthday.

“It better not be a dog,” he barked from his birthday throne.

But a dog it was. A pudgy dog who sat on our kitchen floor thinking “who the hell are these people, and where’s the kibble.”

I didn’t know what to think about this mutt at first (though I did burst into tears at the sight of him — I’m emotional! So what!). He bit me a lot. And he peed all over.

But I grew to love him (even though I dropped him down the stairs the first day he proved to be too heavy for a 10 year-old to carry) and pretty soon, I took him wherever I went. We went on in this fashion — him riding shotty, me pouring cereal on the floor for him, etc. — for nearly 14 years.

Some important facts about Amos:

1) He could tell time. My mom swears that once, when I was in high school, she said to Amos, “Time to wake up Mary!” and — as legend has it — he looked up at the clock.

2) Amos got the paper every morning. He went down the hill, picked up The News Journal and paraded around the house with it until we gave him a treat.

Home from college, illin with the pup

3) He was a drama queen, especially in his later years. My mom would tell me about his theatrics at the kennel: They’d show up, Amos would lay down in the waiting room and roll over on his back, the front desk kid would announce on the loudspeaker, “Amos is here; a cart for Amos up front.” Two people would then wheel a large cart up to the front, bend down, pick up my dog and mount him on the cart. As they wheeled him away, he’d flip over and grin at us, like “F*ck yeah I get a cart!” The first time I saw it for myself, I peed my pants.

4) Amos was a sweet boy. He could always tell when someone needed a friend, putting his head in your lap and licking away any tears. When my parents and I would occasionally fight (as teenagers and their parents sometimes do), he would pace around the house and jump in our laps, seeming to say “Stop that! No fighting!” That would usually calm things down — anything to not hurt our boy.

Around 2005, my sister got Marley and Me for Christmas. Amos was 12 at the time, fully white-faced and noticeably slower than when he was a pup. Fearing the worst, I skipped ahead to the end of the book. I started sobbing — on Christmas! — and swore I’d never read it.

And then it was the summer of 2007. On August 22, I interviewed for an editing job in Center City. I nailed it. That evening, my parents called. They asked me how the interview went and I gave them the play-by-play. My dad said, “Great job Mar, we’re proud of you.” But then, in a classic case of When-God-opens-a-window-he-closes-a-door, he said, “Mary, your mom’s going to get on the other line.”

I immediately knew.

“You need to come home tonight. Your dog–”

That’s all I needed to hear. The other details — that he’d lost his vision, had fallen down the stairs and injured his spine, which had now caused his hind legs to be paralyzed — were too horrible to bear.

Acrobatics

I went home and spent the night in the kitchen, stroking his ears and telling him I loved him, that he was the best dog I’d ever known, thanking him for being so sweet to my parents and my friends.

The next morning, when he still couldn’t walk, we called the vet. He and his assistant would be there shortly.

I laid on the floor with Amos and waited. He gave us all his doggy smile — he still had his youthful energy, but I think he knew it was his time.

The vets arrived and told us what to do. My job was to hug him, turn his face away from where they’d inject him. “Just sleep now,” I said. “Sleep now.”

They made the injection. I felt the life drain out of him. Looked in his eyes and he was gone.

My mom, dad and I all just cried and cried. I can still picture my father weeping openly, something I hadn’t seen before or since. “Well,” said the vet. “He was one in a million.”

Amos loved car rides.

I still don’t know how I had the strength to hold my dog while he died. Guess I just had to be there for him, like he’d been there for me in the midst of all those breakups and college rejection letters.

It was my task to write to the family. I did so that afternoon, sending out a four-sentence email to our extended family. I got 40 lengthy responses, all from people who’d been touched by this wet-nosed ruffian who came to us in 1993.

“It better not be a dog,” my dad had said then. And what a dog he was.

So that’s my Marley story.

I don’t think seeing Marley and Me helped me get over my dog dying, no. But here I am, writing this little tribute that, while probably sad, sappy and overly long to you, was a long time coming on Pish de Luxe’s part.

Amos, I hope you’re up there picking up God’s newspaper. He better be giving you treats.

The best dog in the world. Miss you buddy.