Barry's dream dog, a purebred German Shepherd, came to live with us after we had about 1/4 of our hours complete to pay him off. We made an agreement with the breeder to work for her in lieu of cash. The dog tagged along behind us as we organized and sifted through her massively overcrowded possessions, trying to help her simplify. It was fine work, and well worth the prize of a beautiful and obedient German Shepherd.
The kids LOVED him, especially Elise. She crawled around the house, constantly trying to peek out of a window, or plaster her face to the glass door to see the "doo-doo". She would scream, laugh, and tap his head as I said, "gentle".
A couple days after we got him, he began to act sick. The next week was consumed by watching his liquids, checking his hydration, giving him homeopathic mixes (as instructed by his breeder) and taking him to the vet for fluids, antinausea meds, and antibiotic to fight any secondary infections. Throughout the week, I was sure that Marshall would make it. He was so strong. He was beautiful. He was mine.
When he died I was with him and for the previous hour had known that it was coming. His body was ravaged by the parvo. His heartbeat was irratic and his breathing labored. Still, the moment of his death scared me and was so shocking in it's finality. He was suddenly just a body, without life, without personality, without breath.
Silas had trouble sharing my attention the week of Marshall's illness. He began acting out and (I believe) became resentful of the dog. When we bleached our home and porches, and the following day when we went to the gravesite to have a ceremony, Silas seemed relieved.
The ceremony was even a little fun, having a three year old involved help keep the mood light. We began with a prayer, thanking God for Marshall and the time he was with us. We preceeded by each placing picked wildflowers on the grave and saying something nice about the dog. Silas said, " Marshall, I wish you weren't dead." Poor kid.
We asked Silas which song we should sing together, to which he replied, "The Zacheus is too little one". So we sang, "Zacheus Was a Wee Little Man", and closed our funeral. Marshall will remain with us and in his grave as the perfect dog that came and went in a week.
