“The first time I met Murphy she was wearing a big, red bow around her neck. A Christmas gift from Hane the December after I graduated from Syracuse, she was the basset hound I had always wanted. In fact, I had her name chosen years before she made her arrival into my life.
“To say Murphy was a cute puppy is a vast understatement. All dark brown, black and white splotches, she made my – and strangers — heart melt. On more than one occasion, while walking her around the Syracuse campus, people actually pulled their cars over to the side of the road, jumped out and ran over to give Murphy an ear rub or belly scratch. Murphy’s cute factor was definitely her signature feature.
“Hane was once the benefactor of Murphy’s charm and good looks. While walking Murphy along Marshall Street near campus, Hane attracted the attention of a gaggle of hot college chicks, all fawning over our puppy. Hane was feeling pretty good about himself. Until, that is, Murphy unleashed a giant pee on the sidewalk and proceeded to wag her tail through it, dousing the bevy of beauties with a nice, warm spray of urine. What do you call the opposite of a babe magnet?
“The summer after Hane graduated from Syracuse and moved to Raleigh, NC, I moved to Liverpool for the summer. The Murph and I spent every summer evening after work walking the paved path along Onondaga Lake, enjoying the nice weather and the time away from the less-than-desirable apartment I had rented. Murphy loved to go for these walks. Most people who saw her wouldn’t have known that, however, having witnessed another of Murphy’s signature traits. If Murphy got tired during a walk, she simply laid down. This could happen in the middle of the bike path, the middle of the street, you name it. Wherever she was when she felt the urge for a rest, she just plopped down on the ground and took a break. No amount of oncoming traffic, tugging, treats, cajoling, or downright begging could compel her to get up and get moving. I simply had to stand there, leash slack, waiting for her to refuel. I can still hear the laughter of the other walkers and runners on the path as they watched me watch my resting dog.
“The most memorable adventures with Murphy began after I left Syracuse. A few of the truly good ones stand out.
“In the fall of 1995, Murphy and I joined Hane in Raleigh. Rather than kennel Murphy when we had to go away we often asked friends to stop by our apartment and feed and walk her a couple of times a day. On one such occasion our dear friend, Lisa, was the lucky caregiver. Lisa was so good and kind to Murphy, often taking her on long walks and for rides in the car. Murphy, however, didn’t do her best to show Lisa the proper amount of gratitude.
“Whilst walking Murphy through the woods behind our apartment Lisa looked down and, horrified, saw a squirrel with an impressive case of rigor mortis (sticking tail straight out, mind you) in Murphy’s mouth. Never one to give up a food item, much less the find of her life, Murph was not about to let the squirrel go. Lisa showered the ground with dog biscuits, all the while trying to keep her cool. Thankfully, Murphy relented, but Lisa was permanently scarred.
“That same desire for the forbidden brings me to the infamous ‘city chicken’ and ‘Mike’s hamburger’ incidents. For the ‘city chicken’ incident, we were still living in Raleigh. City chicken is a delicious specialty made by Hane’s mom – it’s basically meatloaf on a stick, much like a corn dog you’d find at the county fair. One fine afternoon, after heating my city chicken for lunch, I set my plate on the kitchen table and walked away for my drink. When I returned, my city chicken was gone, stick and all. Irritated, I gave Murphy a stern lecture about jumping up on the table (despite those short legs she had a rather impressive vertical reach), then re-made my lunch.
“A few days later, Murphy began to whimper in pain as we climbed the steps to our apartment. Several trips to the vet and many x-rays later, nothing turned up. I was assured the city chicken stick was not lodged in her belly; she must have crunched it up while devouring the city chicken. Fast-forward three months to Hane coming home to find the six-inch skewer, fully intact, in a pile of vomit on the carpet. Murphy acted as though nothing had ever happened. (Her response was much the same after her belly bloated to enormous proportions after eating an entire loaf of bread in mere minutes at our Connecticut house, and her tenacity in climbing a long flight of steps to our temporary apartment in Charlotte just six weeks after having a ruptured vertebrae repaired.)
“A job transfer with IBM the week after Hane and I were married took us to Atlanta the summer of 1997. Atlanta is the setting for the ‘Mike’s hamburger’ incident. One summer night we decided to throw a little barbecue with some of our friends. Mike Fenech, a college buddy of Hane’s, was kind enough to make the long drive from the city to our house in the far-reaching ‘burbs. Hamburgers and hot dogs were on the menu and Mike settled on a hamburger. He carefully tended his burger on the grill, then even more lovingly appointed it with just the right balance of lettuce, tomato, onion, and cheese. Mike must have spent a good 30 minutes, start to finish, assembling what looked like a hamburger straight out of a gourmet food magazine. He set his burger and plate down on the kitchen table (ahem) and turned his back for a split second to grab some ketchup and mustard. When he turned around, the burger was gone and nary a crumb was left on the plate to suggest it had even existed. He was stupefied. We were impressed. The Murph had struck again.
“These stories go on and on for us. The way she would wrangle half-charred wood from our fireplace and gnaw on it, a practice we affectionately deemed ‘getting wacky on the wood.’ The slobber that landed itself halfway up our walls when she shook, and once held a leaf on its end in an impressive five-inch dangle from her jowls. The place she assumed under the piano next to the pedals every time I sat down to play. In everything she did — from the way she rolled on her back in complete ecstasy in the grass on a warm summer’s day to the joy she took in suddenly dashing around the house in a full-on run — Murphy lived it up. Her tail was in constant, happy motion. And not just the regular wag-wag of any old dog. Murphy’s tail spun around in circles, whirly-gigging like a helicopter propeller.
“And so, when the tail stopped wagging and hung straight down, her dark brown and black coat had turned a floury white, and those adorably short back legs were no longer strong enough to hold Murphy’s weight, we knew it was time to say goodbye. As right as I knew it was, it was an agonizing, gut-wrenching decision.
“The end was quiet and peaceful for Murphy, a stark contrast to the wildly exuberant life she led. It’s hard to believe she’s gone, having been an undeniably strong presence in our lives for the almost 13 years to the day since she first entered it. Through six moves, two kids and countless adventures, Murphy was there every step of the way, peering at us and the world around her with those irrepressibly human eyes and loving every minute of it. Leaving her at the vet’s office was one of the hardest things I have ever done.
“Thankfully, my family and I have countless memories to fall back on, to remind us of the ways – good and bad, funny and irritating – Murphy touched each of our lives. What a gift she was, indeed.”
— Alexis Marteslo, December 23, 2007
Read, Seen, Heard 
