The ups and downs of life

Published 12:54 pm Thursday, January 22, 2026

As I write this, he’s lying beside me reluctantly wearing the “cone of shame,” doing his best imitation of Dug from Disney’s “Up.”  Dug is a fitting description of Murphy our golden retriever in almost every way, especially in the ways that matter.  He’s loyal, happy-go-lucky (most of the time), and protective of his turf and his pack.

He’s got the light back in his eyes, and he’s starting to get a little pep in his step again, but one week ago about this time, I was trying hard to envision a moment like this, a moment with him lying—happy and healthy—at my side.

We had just returned from an amazing trip to Walt Disney World with our brother and sister-in-law.  It was a much-needed trip, and a rarity in the simple fact that all our children were able to be there, too.

We had all been looking forward to the family trip, a celebration of our niece Lucy’s upcoming graduation.  The adventure would also be the last time that all of us were together before our son Dan and our nephew Billy headed back to Ole Miss and our daughter Tate headed back to Japan (more on that later).

Murphy the Golden Retriever resting (and reluctantly wearing the “cone of shame”) at my side as I write. Photo by Brad Dye

As I wrote last week, the trip was amazing. Our reentry, however, would prove a bit more traumatic.  After an uneventful early morning flight and an easy drive home, we headed to pick up our pack of pups that had been boarding at our veterinarian’s.

Everyone was excited to see us and eager to get home, everyone that is expect Murphy, who was not his normal “Dug-like” self.  He was lethargic on the ride home while Moose, Birdie and Poppy were bouncing from window to window.

Back at home as everyone began to settle in and unpack after several days of being somewhere else, Murphy still seemed off.  He drank water and soon afterwards began throwing up foamy liquid.  We knew immediately that something was wrong.

As I was loading him back into the car, one look into his eyes told me all that I needed to know.  This was serious.  We had called the vet’s office as soon as he started vomiting, but we called again en route.  Time seemed of the essence.

It’s often called bloat or twisted stomach.  I had heard folks talk about their dog’s stomach “flipping” before, and I knew that it was a risk in larger dogs, those with large chest cavities.  The correct medical term is Gastric Dilatation-Volvulus.

As the staff examined Murphy, I felt his stomach.  It was as tight as a balloon.  GDV is a life-threatening condition in which the dog’s stomach fills with gas and twists.  The flipping or twisting cuts off blood supply and prevents gas, food, and fluid from exiting the stomach.

When x-rays confirmed what was suspected and our vet explained that emergency surgery would be necessary to prevent organ damage and death, it felt like a gut punch, especially on the heels of such a wonderful escape while on vacation from “the real world.”

“Welcome back,” I thought as I sat beside G on the bench in the waiting room as they prepped our happy boy for surgery.  The words of Rick Bass, fresh from a recent reading, came to mind:

“All dogs are born with a death sentence.  They hunt for us and then they are gone.  They do not get to stay young or strong forever. It’s an old truth, but still we have to relearn it with each dog.”

I stared into the void of that abyss all the while thinking, “But he is young.  He is strong.”  Sitting there, I felt like young Billy Colman in “Where the Red Fern Grows,” with the realization that, like Billy, “my whole life was wrapped up in my dogs.”

Truth be told, it always has been. From my first, Big Ben, to our latest pack of four, I’ve always been a dog’s boy. I pray that I always will be, for there is nothing like a dog’s love. It is, I believe, the closest to unconditional that exists in our broken world, aside from perhaps the love of a parent for a child (more on that in a moment).

Now for the good news, the surgery was a success.  When I next saw Murphy, the light had come back into his eyes.  I stopped in on my way home from work one afternoon and he was just finishing up a bag of fluids.  I even got to take him for a walk outside to do his business.

I knew he had turned the corner when he tried to walk to my car to head home.  “You’ve got a couple more days here, buddy, but you’ll be back home soon,” I told him as we walked back to the vet’s office.

He came home Saturday.  He’s still got a way to go, but Murphy is headed toward a full recovery.  I would be remiss at this point if I didn’t say a heartfelt thank you to Dr. Nadine Kirk and everyone at All Creatures Veterinary Services in Noxapater.  A good vet is a treasure.  Take time this week to say thank you to yours.

With Murphy settled in back home, these past few days have felt as though almost everything has been right here at our little farm on Brooksville Road.  I say almost everything in relation to the parent-child bond that I mentioned earlier.

I had been dreading this Tuesday morning since our return home.  Murphy’s emergency had shifted my dread into the background somewhat, but it still lingered ever present.  Tuesday morning’s arrival meant that I had to take our daughter Tate to the airport for her return trip to Japan.

She had been home since early November which seemed like a long time, but the days had flown past.  Now, we were faced with another parting, another of life’s little gut punches.

In her book “Braiding Sweetgrass,” Robin Wall Kimmerer succinctly describes this pain when she writes, “It is the fundamental unfairness of parenthood that if we do our jobs well, the deepest bond we are given will walk out the door with a wave over the shoulder.”

Our children are our greatest gifts, but as Wall Kimmerer so aptly states, “…they are not meant for us to keep.”  According to Wall Kimmerer, “our work and our joy is to pass along the gift and to trust that what we put out into the universe will always come back.”  I believe that with all my heart.

Until next time, here’s to the ups and downs of life, to good dogs and great vets, to the meetings and the partings, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.