Mr. Morgan came to us from two wonderful Cockapoo breeders in Florida .|
We had another Cockapoo, Oliver, (or Ollie Pup or just OP) will be six in November. He was a little more than a year old when Mr Morgan joined our family. Of our four legged "kids" Morgan was the only one who came from a 'family' that wasn't dysfunctional. EddieCat, Ollie's older Kitty Kat sister "sister" stopped "playing puppy" with him when they were both about 6 months old. She was abandoned as a baby kitty kat, outside my husband's late fathers house, in October 2010. Every one in the neighborhood knew my father in law had ferral cats. Our other Kiity Kat; "Charlie" was one of the ferral farm cats, but was very well socialized. He became an "inside cat"after he was savagely wounded, and spent nearly eight months "crate confined," had two ankle bones fused. And, for many of those months he was hospitalized, and was treated by a kind, skilled vetinary surgeon in Wilmington NC. And Ollie?
Well, we picked up Ollie Pup in January 2011, frpm his "breeder." There was snow that day. Cockapoos are "inside dogs". When we arrived, OP was outside, a baby dog, outside. Maybe with his mother, maybe not. I don't knpw. I consider OPs issues my responsibility. I didn't do the due diligence necessary and I know better. Michael, my husband, says, OP was "sent" to us; because we would love him no matter what. Our vet says Ollie Pup has Separation Anxiety disorder, OCD and probably Oppositional Defiant Disorder. I know Ollie suffers--he's recently scratched his neck raw; more concerning than constantly licking his paws, either because of his allergies, or OCD or both. And he suffered another time... He truly suffered when his brother Boo, Mr. Morgan, left us.
But that Mr.Morgan, our Boo,; was brought into this world right, the same way two legged- children who are wanted are. He, and his littermates, were socialized from the time they arrived in this world. They were whelpedin, and lived in, his breeders' living room. All of his "cockapoo" famoly were rotated through the house, and besides the Cocker, the poodles, and the cockapoos, there was a boxer, three cats... And more. People visited just for "puppy" therapy. Morgan was loved before he became our Mr Morgan, loved unconditionally, just because he Was.
Three or four months before, we decided OP would benefit from a buddy, and after considerable research, and subsequent phone conversations, "interviews'' we were Iinvited to bring Ollie, and come to meet the little black and tan fluff ball, the then "little" puppy boy, soon to be Mr. Morgan 9 or our Boo, The Divine Mr. M's nickname) Mr Morgan's "job" was to be Ollie's "buddy." And so in January 2012 we went to meet him. What a delightful trip that was .... . And what a beautiful shining soul Mr Morgan was; is. Smart as a whip, and intuitive, he had to drop out of "puppy class" three times, because at the time, I was Michael's father's care giver. But he he absorbed obedience commands from OP. And he figured out that his "job" was to help OP navigate through what must have been for Ollie a very scary world.
Boo eventually learned to herd his "older brother from another mother -- and father" the Ollie Pup, whenever they were off leash in the field, on the beach or in the dog park. We would tell Boo to "go get Ollie Pup" and Boo would run like the wind and chase Ollie back, or Ollie followed him. Boo was smaller; younger and scrappier, Ollie knew him, trusted him, and followed his "directions."
We live on an island. When we walked on the beach, the Boo would run to the water, then rush back to OP, to entice Ollie to chase him into the water. Ollie grudgingly would follow--most times. Ollie must have read the book Old Yeller--the story with the description of "hydrophobia"-- I can't say. He is a DOG, and DOG'S have secrets. He might read every day. Maybe he also read the Wall Street Journal on line, or The New Yorker (it has the best Dog cartoons, ever)!
Morgan Boo understood the magnificence and wonder of the beach, and loved it so... he was drawn to the water. One day before he was a year old we visited my brother and sister in law, who had an in-ground pool. I intended for Boo to try out the pool water, so had brought along a new flotation jacket for him. I never got a chance to put it on! Boo couldn't tell the difference between the pool surround and the surface of the water and just walked in.... he learned to Cock-a-Poo-paddle quickly!!
Boo eventually realized the object was new and shiny, but inanimate, and decided it wasn't a threat to him, so he went closer for confirmation. It was a new 500-gallon LP tank! At first i thought he must have initially thought it fierce, in his min it might be a Hippopotamus or Rhinasaurus! Or, perhaps he thought it was a spaceship... and he wasn't ready to leave... yet.
In the month before Boo died I read three books that were unusual choices for me. They were A Dog's Purpose and A Dog's Journey both written by W. Bruce Cameron and a third called The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. These books were not my usual choice of fiction. I read dog-training books, books about dogs-- but not dog fiction. OK, maybe some, when I was very young, I read 101 Dalmatians, Lady and the Tramp and the aforementioned Old Yeller. I'm told I used to cry when Lassie got in trouble in her Sunday night television program... That was years ago. I didn't know very many dogs. We never had a dog when I was a child; my brother and father had asthma and allergies.
But never the less, I bought those books, why? I hadn't a clue. I bought A Dog's Journey but wouldn't even read it until I found its predecessor A Dog's Purpose. When I did find it, and read it, I laughed, (more than I laughed in my room, by myself, in high school when I read Catch 22); I cried (more than I did when Mr. Spock "died" in the Star Treck film). I didn't get it, why did I ever pick up those books? Even stranger, what about the book The Art of Racing in the Rain? I know little enough about cars, and nothing about racing whether NASCAR or Formula I. I remember Michael and a friend of ours laughing at me when we were driving in Ft Lauderdale or South Beach, and saw a fast bright yellow car and I referred to it as a "horsey car" thinking it was a Ford Mustang variant, (it certainly was no Mustang) ... so it's no surprise I had no idea that "the" Ferrari's first name was Enzo!
Even before Boo died, I wanted to understand why I was compelled to read those books. So I continued to think back. Evidence of the "character" that defined Boo revealed itself to me, when I remembered something that happened one morning, months earlier, when I brought Boo to work with me. (I am a nurse practitioner). Boo was slowly being exposed to the commands necessary for him to become a Therapy Dog. On the morning I refer to, I had an appointment with a woman I admire tremendously. She saw me for treatment of her depression. She was in her thirties, and had several concomitant medical issues both autoimmune and orthopedic; each contributed to her chronic pain and consequent depression. On the morning I remembered, the young woman was tearful, and told me she had been crying continuosly for two weeks, without stopping. I needed to leave the office for a few minutes but I didn't want to leave her alone; she was so sad. Something prompted me to ask her would she like me to bring my young dog Morgan in to sit with her ... she said yes, that would be ok, so I brought our Boo into the room. I made the "appropriate" introductions, and left for about five minutes.
Upon my return, I thought I went into the wrong room -- the woman I left in tears with a little black & tan Cockapoo was smiling from ear to ear, holding Morgan in her arms. Mr. Morgan was quite content to be hugged and offer his doggy kisses to her in return. He provided the woman in relentless pain and unremitting depression with relief no medication or psychotherapy could; a nonjudgmental, unconditional acceptance of "where she was" emotionally, and he didn't try to "fix" anything. Mr. Morgan offered relief by Being. He was just himself; a born "caregiver." His giving, loving, joyful and healing spirit was available to everyone who met him; and on that morning he brought comfort and healing to someone he'd never met or even seen before, someone who needed healing desperately.
He just shined his doggy spirit, and comforted her with his very Being.
And a few months later,when Morgan didn't cpme home with me the night I brought him to the emergency vet hospital, Ollie Pup didn't understand. And for six weeks OP paced around the room every single night looking for him. He didn't understand when I left hime home alone, and took Boo with me. He didn't understand why I returned alone. Didn't I always say, " I'll be right back BoyZ, you know I 'll be back." I was back, but without Morgan.
Ollie Pup licked the tears from my face. Where was his Brother Boo? And my husband Michael, who was many miles away when Boo died and was as bereft as I was; Michael, (the rational engineer) told me abou a week later that Boo had a new and very important job; he was now a guardian Angel Dog, flying around the universe in a spaceship,m looking after his four legged friends and their humans.
Boo (or Mr. Morgan) is doing his job well. We now have evidence. There is no doubt in my mind Boo was "Looking After" Sophie (his two legged sister) who was thrown 25 feet in the air to the ground from a rope swing in September 2014. She was seriously injured; had broken bones but miraculously did not suffer a head or spinal cord injury. When I saw the picture of the swing and the rocky ravine below, I knew that there was some "intervention." I choose to think it was Boo who intervened. Our Mr. Morgan, called to another plane was doing his new job, and doing it well; just as well as as he used to herd OP back to me on the beach or in the field.
A week after Boo moved on to his new life, I receive a phone call from a man I'm proud to call a friend. The call was from one of Mr Morgan's breeders. I called them whe Boo died, and when that phone call came it was a turning point for Ollie, and for us. Glen called to offer us the opportunity to adopt one of Mr.Morgans half- brothers "Boy George." The George was born deaf, and his prospective family wouldn't take him, because of his "handicap." So his breeder kept him, and raised him in their happy home, with his mother and the father he and Morgan shared, (along with and the rest of the cockers, poodles, cockapoos and the Boxer Jock, the cats, the birds and a Koi pond) until they could find the right family for him. That phone call was one of the finest gifts i've ever received.
Pooh! Neither The George nor Ollie know he is deaf! And whenThe George came home with us, Ollie stopped looking for Morgan.
No, The George did not replace Morgan. He is his own Dog. And a wonderful Boy he is. He runs like the wind, is a Mighty Hunter, a Seafaring Dog, and our Ollie now cares for The George. He watches, follows and will herd him back from the fields. He will even follow him into the ocean. Ollie doesn't like the water, but somehow knows it his his job to look after The George, as Morgan looked after him.
All of the "kids" at Rainbow Bridge are his Mr Morgan's buddies now. So Celebrate our Boo because
Note: The music selection is neither Mr. Morgan's choice but mine; it has been Danny Boy for my dad, and Amazing Grace and the Wind beneath My Wings for my mom. Both she and my dad would have loved Mr. Morgan, "Boo", so. Mr. Morgan is named after my father's only living brother, but " Morgan was also my dad's uncle's name, and his Grandfather's name, and my cousin and his son's name. (many Morgan Molloys -and Lydon's in my family!) Boo is the only one with four legs-- or so I think).
The following is an unsourced verse my parents had put on their memory cards at their death. Petey ( my dad) picked it out. It is as true for my parents as I like to think it was for Our Morgan.
Do Not speak of me with tears ...
I can't say it was heaven here for Morgan, remember he was a DOG, but he was a piece of heaven for me, and I look for him every morning still-- I look for him to poke his head up from his doggy bed at the foot of ours (he would migrate there sometime during the night) and say "it's time for me to get up and go outside. I am a "Good Dog" And he was ... and so he Is.
I changed the music today to "Tears in Heaven." But there's one difference I'd presume to make in Clapton's lyrics. Mr Morgan would "know" his brother Ollie's name, Michael's name, Sophie's name, and the names of Charlie and EddyCat, and my name too. He know rhe names of his four legged buddies, and their humans. He know your name, too!
Revised; MAM 4/23/2016