She was never the smartest dog, or the healthiest dog, but her heart was in the right place.
She became a part of my family at 9 months old, an energetic, seemingly happy bulldog juvenile, reddish brown fur, white neck ring, white socks, and darker fur around her eyes almost creating a mask type appearance. We named her Morgan. We already had a male bulldog, Charlie, and this was to be his playmate, his friend, his company when he was left home alone. We bought her from an ad in the paper. She was cheaper than she should have been for a bulldog. We were told by the man who was selling her that he was selling both her and her sister because he had had heart surgery and couldn’t care for them anymore.
It became obvious once we got her home that the man had kept her and her sister in the garage with little contact except to beat them. She was not the least bit house trained, and any man walking into the room caused her to urinate. My then husband was not the most sympathetic to her plight, at which point I said, leave her alone, let me handle it.
Within a couple of months, she was house trained and over the worst of her fears. She became my shadow – every where I went, she was glued to my side. She wasn’t the smartest of dogs – she never learned much beyond sit, lay down, give paw, and roll over. She would often get underfoot and would revert to scared puppy mode whenever anyone raised their voice around her. But nothing got her down for long. When anyone would walk into the house, she would greet them with a baying that sounded more like a beagle than a bulldog “Roo, roooooooooo!!!” she would declare at the top of her lungs. I would reply, “Hello, Moo Moooooooo!!!” and so she became MooMoo more than Morgan.
She loved ice cubes and ice in general. The second I cracked an ice cube tray, if she wasn’t already at my feet, she would be there, looking up at me expectantly. She hated remote control things. We had a remote control dodge truck toy, that she would attack to the point of foaming at the mouth, and it appeared to me that she thought she was saving me from it. We couldn’t have any toys with squeakers inside them. It was her personal vendetta to remove any squeaker immediately, and she wouldn’t give up until her deed was done. She became an expert at it as she grew, removing just the squeaker with near surgeon precision. She only chewed a couple of shoes when she was younger… but could devour an entire rawhide in one sitting.
When she was two and a half years old, we bred her and Charlie, our other bulldog. They had 4 beautiful puppies via C-section, but the strain did nothing for her health. The stress of it all caused her tear ducts to shut down, causing her to claw a hole in her cornea. So she had a corneal eye graft surgery during her puppies’ first weeks of life. After it had been ingrained in her so deeply that she should not have accidents in the house, she seemed to insist that the puppies belonged outside. The first few weeks I got no sleep as I would wake to a crying puppy she was trying to pick up and carry out to the dugout she had created on the side of the garage in the yard. From the moment she had had her own puppies, she was obsessed with babies. She watched over any baby with determination that entered our home – licking its feet continuously if permitted to. She would run hysterically between the child’s mother and the baby if it became upset.
When we had our own child, she saw it as her personal duty to watch over him. She slept under his crib whenever permitted instead of at the foot of my bed. She was patient and gentle with him through the ear pulling and poking phases that children go through.
But as she aged, her health waned. Her eyes were never right after her puppies (we never bred them again). She had allergies that made her feet swell. We had medication we gave her to try to control it, but as time went on, she became used to it and it helped less and less. Her allergies worked their ways into her ears, too, causing infection after in infection. She had alopecia, which made her look somewhat mangey and there wasn’t anything the vets could do to help us.
Her immune system seemed to be completely shutting down and there was nothing we could do. Her problems began to combine to be insurmountable. The last straw was when she lost the use of her hind legs.
And so today, just over 9 years since she first came home with me, I must give my friend some peace. I must free her from this world of pain that has become all she knows. I hope there is a doggy heaven, so she can run free again, caring for all the children there, welcoming the new ones with her enthusiastic “Rooo Rooooooooo!!!” She was a good dog, a dedicated friend, a great spirit, and I will miss her so.
And Charlie, don’t you dare join her, not yet… you’re doing good, hang in there old boy.
