Farewell, Muffin

Farewell, Muffin

"A smaller death has just occurred in my lap and now it's buried in the yard."   

--G. Hearn, Time Apart

We got Muffin in 2003 from the puppy rescue center down in Monroe.  Maryann thought "rescue" meant "free" and she damn near had a coronary when she found out I had paid $295 for the pup.  But Muffin came spayed and with all of her puppy shots so I saw it as a reasonable cost.  Maryann was key in naming her.  As we got home and sat around the dining room table discussing options Maryann came up with, "Well, she looks like a chocolate chip muffin."  We went with that--only just the muffin part.

I always thought Maryann was Muffin's favorite.  They bonded instantly, I think mainly because at the time we got her the kids were in school most days and I was at work.  Maryann worked second shift so she was home all morning and initially gave Muffin a bath in the tub every day.  Well, apparently, coming out of the rescue center Muffin had some kind of mites on her which jumped off of her and right onto Maryann.  Not realizing what was causing the "rash" on her arms, Maryann went to a dermatologist who took a biopsy from one of the many little red welts.  Once the doctor knew it was some sort of mite reaction the proper medicine quickly solved the problem.  Maryann later asked one of her nurse co-workers to remove the biopsy stitches from her right forearm but they had either been inserted or removed incorrectly and left an ugly scar which we still refer to  as "Mommy's Muffin scar."  Oh, and by the way, Muffin's daily baths also came to an abrupt halt as quickly as they had begun.  

  

One of my fondest memories of Muffin goes back to when she was just a few years old, still a feisty and powerful young beast.  We had taken her to obedience school but it didn't take so when walking her she constantly pulled mightily on her leash.  For years I was the only one who could walk her.  One summer day we took her on a long walk over toward Doolittle School then over Oak, Ives, West Main and back on to Warren.  The entire time Nattie kept pestering me:  "Can I walk Muffin?  Can I hold the leash?  I can handle her.  I'm big enough."  Nattie was only 9 at the time and I kept putting her off until I noticed that Muffin was getting tired, slowing down, and losing her pep.  As we turned onto Warren, our home street, I gave Nattie the leash and implored her, "Hold on tight." She was so proud and pleased to be finally walking Muffin as we sauntered together down the sidewalk.  Everything was going well until we got to Tracey Post's house.  Muffin saw a squirrel and hilarity ensued.....for me, anyway.  It looked like something out of a Marmaduke cartoon as Muffin turned on her afterburners and exploded into a full gallop in the blink of an eye, Nattie holding onto the leash with both hands as she took a faceplant onto the grass and got dragged swiftly across the yard.  Fortunately, the squirrel found a nearby tree and Muffin came to a stop at the base of the trunk.  A shocked Nattie slowly climbed to her feet, brushed  herself off and said, "Whoa...she's strong.  Can you walk her the rest of the way home?"  I didn't learn until years later that proper leash-holding technique is with the fingertips only for just such an occasion.

Muffin was an outstanding watchdog.  She loved being outside so we had rigged up an area for her such that she could hang out in her kennel in our garage to watch the world go by and step out into our yard on her tether as she saw fit.  She had an uncanny knack for knowing who belonged on our property and who didn't--and if you didn't, then you'd best not come 'round.  I can't explain how she knew but she just knew.  If you were a friend or neighbor or relative then everything was cool.  

She had an excellent memory.

It was simply precious how she loved to hang out with the kids--laying in the grass in the back yard overseeing a pool party, laying at Nate's feet while he sat on the couch reading, sleeping on the floor alongside a bed, or sitting politely in front of Nattie, watching and listening to her as she sang while playing her guitar.  

One of her most endearing habits was what we referred to as her "pretending to guard the house."  As I mentioned, she spent a lot of time in her kennel looking out through the open garage door.  Whenever she was there and we would pull up in a car she would quickly jump up and run out to the corner of the house, look around the side of the building and maybe woof once or twice before coming to greet us.  She was just putting on an act, letting us know she was on top of things and holding the fort in our absence.

Predominantly a Chow Chow, she loved the snow and loved the cold.  She would romp through the deep snow, lay down, and roll around.  Sometimes she'd just circle around to tramp down the snow then lay down and curl up in a ball, as dogs do instinctively.  If you were to reach under her belly it was like an oven--easily well over 100 degrees.  When sunning in the winter, having a choice between laying on the driveway, for example, or on a pile of ice, she'd always take the ice.  Sometimes she'd refuse to come in out of the snow and I'd literally have to drag her inside--she'd have her brakes on the whole way.  There's a small hill at the side of our garage and she loved to sit atop the hill, pointing her nose into the cold wind, and keeping an eye on her neighborhood.

One other amusing habit Muffin had was that she never wanted us to walk away from the house without her.  If we did she would whine and carry on.  This was most noticeable if one of us went down the street to my father's house who lived three doors down on the other side of the street.  What I would do to trick her is instead of walking down the street I'd ride a bike.  She would never whine if I rode away because she knew she couldn't ride a bike so she wouldn't be able to go with me anyway.

Muffin's health deteriorated quickly.  One day she seemed to be fine then we noticed she was limping slightly and having trouble getting up from her bed pillow.  At one point she was struggling to stand so I helped her to get up but when she stood it seemed she couldn't get any purchase on the laminate flooring in our portico and she tumbled over into the wall.  I don't know if it was a loss of equilibrium or her legs hurt or what but soon she couldn't stand at all.  Finally, it appeared she couldn't even move her limbs.  We were able to pet her and comfort her but her legs were giving her much pain.  

I called the vet.  

  When we arrived, the vet was running late so this gave us an extra 20 minutes or so to pet Muffin and comfort her.  When the doctor finally arrived I explained the situation.  He said he could give her a complete exam to see if there were any other options but he didn't think it would be worth putting her through the additional pain.

At first, I presumed that Maryann and Nattie would not want to be present for the final procedure but Nattie piped up, "I'm not going anywhere.  I'm staying.  Muffin wouldn't leave me."  Maryann agreed, "We should all stay to be with her at the end."  So we did.  We were all petting her as she slipped into sleep and then passed away.  

When we got home, we talked burial spots.  Maryann suggested under a spruce out in the back yard.  Nattie said, "She belongs in Gaga's Garden."  Of course, Nattie was correct.  Gaga's Garden is a hosta and perennial garden in the front yard under a maple tree.  It is a memorial to my late mother (Gaga to her grandchildren) and comprised completely of flora transplanted from her yard after she had passed away.

To break through the frozen earth I needed to use a huge steel pry bar which had been left behind in the garage when we bought our house back in 2000 from the estate of the late Lilian Burns. What a 90+ year-old woman was doing with a 7-foot, 50 pound pry bar I've no clue but this was like the fourth time I've needed it since we moved in.

It took me close to 2 hours to dig an appropriate grave.  This included sawing through several large roots and removing a 100 pound stone from the bottom of the hole. The stone needed to be removed.  Not only would it help to make the perfect shape for Muffin's final resting place but it was also perfect for a headstone which we'll be able to paint and inscribe appropriately in the spring.  I was in an awkward position in the hole trying to lift the heavy rock and on my first attempt only got it a few inches off the ground.  On the next attempt I got it about up to my knees.  The stone needed to come out so I re-gripped and said out loud, "This is for you, Muffin," then lifted it clean out of the hole and up to ground level--lifting entirely with my back which, I know, is totally against protocol.

After lowering Muffin in, pillow and all, I summoned Maryann and Nattie for services.  We each said a few words and shared a few memories before covering her over and placing her stone.  

The wind picked up and over night there was a torrential rain storm.

Farewell, Muffin.

MUFFIN CRUZ BUSTAMONTE ST. MARTIN

September 2, 2003-January 30, 2013