The Catharsis of Mourning Another’s Loss

(www.meowbarkblog.com) — After putting it off for more than a year, I finally read the last three chapters of Marley & Me, in anticipation of the film release later this month. I don’t mean to be giving any spoilers here, but the dog dies at the end, as dogs are wont to do. And it’s not a particularly horrible death except for the horribleness that is death.

I bawled. I’m still sniffling, tears sneaking out despite my best efforts to remember that (a) it’s not MY dog and (b) it happened years ago and (c) he had a good long life for a dog anyway, with people who clearly loved him, so it’s not that sad. Those things mean NOTHING. Marley’s death is possibly the saddest thing I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot of sad stuff.

I think what did it for me was thinking about Murphy and what a bad dog he is even though he tries to be good. Murphy is Marley in mastiff form. And as much as he drives us crazy with his insane behavior and his eating everything that’s not nailed down (and some things that are, come to think of it: case in point, the patio steps), when he goes it will be gut-wrenching.

What is it about bad dogs that make them the most lovable?

We had been reading Marley & Me together, my husband and I, because we had both wanted to read it and he didn’t want me to do it without him. So every night before bed, I’d read a chapter aloud. But toward the end there, I was crying too hard to speak and I could barely see the words on the page. That’s why we ultimately set it aside.

“You should finish Marley,” my husband told me tonight as after he answered my cries to rescue Pickles from the soaking tub in the master bath. (She had chased a cat in and gotten stuck). I was lying in bed, sick, and it seemed like a good idea. But it was NOT a good idea. Bawling and heaving big shuddering sobs while you already feel like your sinuses are about to explode is not something I recommend.

But now that I’m mostly calmed down, I feel a kind of lightness that I needed to feel. Maybe just the physical act of crying did it, but I think it probably had something more to do with knowing that I’m not alone in loving a terrible dog who no one else could ever love, a good dog trapped in a bad dog’s body.

Contents Copyright © 2008 Kristen King