Chapter 14 Part VII-1

When school ended for the summer, Jenny packed the three children into a minivan for a week-long visit to her sister in Boston.And I couldn't go together because of work.This left Marley unaccompanied at home and without anyone to take him outside.Of the many painful little embarrassments of old age, the one that distressed him most was his total loss of control over his stomach.Although Marley's many bad behaviors over the years can be described as hard to describe, his toilet habits have never been wrong.It's one of the few Marley traits we can boast about.Until a few months ago, he had never defecated in the house, even when he was left alone for ten or twelve hours.We joked that his bladder was made of steel and his intestines were made of stone.

In recent months, however, things have changed.The intervals between his bowel movements are barely more than a few short hours.He had to go when instinct called, and if we weren't home and couldn't let him go outdoors, he had no choice but to do it inside.Doing so would be tantamount to killing him.When he's comfortable indoors, we'll know the moment we walk into the house.Instead of standing in the doorway to greet us in his blissful way, he would stand far in the room, his head almost down to the floor, his tail tucked between his legs, a He looked ashamed as hell.We never punished him for this.How can we?He has lived to almost thirteen years, which is the maximum life span of a Labrador.We know he has to, and he seems to know it.I am sure that if he could have spoken, he would have publicly apologized for his humiliating behavior and wants us to believe that he is really trying to hold it back.

Jenny bought back a steam cleaner to clean the carpets, and we started to organize our schedules to make sure we didn't leave the house for more than a few hours.Jenny would scurry home from the school where she volunteered, to let Marley outside for convenience.Instead, I would use the time between serving the main course and dessert to get home and take him out for a walk.Of course, Marley made this walk as long as possible by sniffing and circling around the yard.Our friends would make fun of us out loud and say we don't know who the real owner of the Jeroghan house is. With Jenny and the kids away, I knew I had to make the most of this period.This is a rare opportunity for me to be out after get off work, to wander around the neighborhood, to visit the town and neighborhood I am now writing about.Since I have to go back and forth between the office and the house, I'm away from home for ten to twelve hours a day.There was no doubt that Marley couldn't be left alone for that long, not even half that length.We decided to board him with a local pet board—the place we board Marley every summer when we go on vacation.This pet agency has many trainee veterinarians, so if not the most personal service, they can at least provide professional care.It seemed like every time we went there, we saw a different doctor, which meant he knew nothing about Marley's condition - other than the dog's name was listed on the form.We never knew the names of these doctors.They are not like our beloved Dr. Jay in Florida, who knew Marley almost as well as we did, and who, while we were gone, really looked after him like a family member. Marley.The doctors here, however, are just strangers--able strangers, but strangers nonetheless.Fortunately, Marley doesn't seem to mind that.

"Marley's going to dog camp!" screamed Colleen.So Marley pulled himself together, as if the idea was worthwhile.We're joking about what the Pet House guys are going to do to Marley: 9:00 to 10:00 digging holes; 10:15 to 11:00 tearing pillows; 11:05 to 12:00 searching the trash ;etc.I dropped him off at the pet board on Sunday night and left my mobile phone number with the front desk.I never seemed completely at ease when Marley was boarded, even in a setting as familiar as Dr. Jay's office, and I was always a little worried about him.After each visit he was more emaciated, his muzzle was often bruised from gnawing his teeth against the bars of the kennel, and, when he got home, he would He lay down in the corner and slept soundly for hours, as if he had suffered from severe insomnia during the boarding, and spent all his time pacing up and down in the cage.

It was a Tuesday morning, and I was near the Independence Hall in downtown Philadelphia when my cell phone rang. "Can you wait a moment? Doctor X wants to talk to you!" a female staff member of the pet escrow office asked.Here's another veterinarian whose name I'd never heard before.Seconds later, the veterinarian answered the phone. "Marley had an emergency," she said. My heart is going to jump in my throat. "Emergency situations?" The veterinarian said Marley's stomach swelled with food, water and air, then stretched, distended and twisted so that its contents became blocked.With no place for air or other contents to escape, his stomach was painfully swollen in what is known medically as life-threatening gastrointestinal dilatation and kinky disease.Surgery is usually required to resolve the symptoms, which can lead to death within hours if left untreated, she said.

She said she had inserted a catheter down his throat to release a large amount of gas that was clogging his stomach, and the swelling was greatly relieved.By deftly manipulating the catheter in his stomach, she thought she had unkinked, or, as she put it, "kept it from turning over," and he was now sedated and sleeping comfortably. "Is there no problem then?" I asked cautiously. "But it was only temporary," the doctor replied. "We helped him through the sudden crisis, but once the stomach kinks like that, it will kink again." "So what happens?" I asked.

"I'd say there's only a 1 in 100 chance he won't get another kink," she said. "One percent chance? For God's sake," I thought to myself, "the odds of him going to Harvard are higher than that." "One percent? Is the chance so slim?" "I'm sorry," she replied, "it's a serious situation." If his stomach kinks again—and she told me that was bound to happen—then we have only two options.The first option is to operate on him.She said she would cut his stomach open and attach it to the hollow wall with sutures to stop the stomach from kinking again. "The surgery cost about two thousand dollars," she said.I swallowed in surprise. "And I have to tell you, it's an incision and a penetrating operation. It's not very successful for a dog his age." And, even if he survives the operation, the recovery process is difficult. It will be very long and difficult.Sometimes an elderly dog ​​like him just can't handle the trauma of surgery, she explained.

"If he's only four or five years old, I'd definitely say we should have the surgery anyway," said the veterinarian, "but at his age, you have to ask yourself if you really want him to go through The ordeal of surgery." "If we don't have surgery," I asked, "what's the second option?" "The second option," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "is to have him euthanized." "Oh!" I froze there. It is very difficult for me to deal with the current situation.Five minutes ago, I was walking toward the Liberty Bell, figuring Marley was happily resting in his pet sitter.And now, I'm being asked by the veterinarian to choose between Marley's life or his death.I had never heard of the situation she described before.I later learned that stomach swelling is a fairly common occurrence in dogs, especially those with deep barrel chests like Marleys.Dogs who swallow their meals in just a few bites — Marley in particular — are at high risk for these symptoms.Some dog owners suspect that stomach swelling may be caused by the stress of being in a boarding house, but I later came across a citation from a professor of veterinary medicine who had research showing that the stress of being in a boarding house produced There was no link between stress and stomach swelling.The veterinarian acknowledged by phone that Marley's hyperarousal from being watched by other dogs at the boarding house may have been the trigger for the attack.He devoured his food greedily as usual, then panted and salivated so much that all the other dogs crowded around him.She thought he might have swallowed so much air and saliva that his stomach began to distend, making it prone to kinks. "Can't we just wait and see what happens to him?" I asked. "Maybe there won't be another kink."

"That's exactly what we're doing now," she said, "wait and see." She repeated the mere 1 percent chance of success, then added, "If his stomach kinks again, then I You will need to make a quick decision. We cannot allow him to continue to suffer." "I need to talk to my wife," I told her, "and I'll call you back." When Jenny answered her cell phone, she was with her children on a crowded cruise ship in the middle of Boston Harbor.I could hear the ship's engine rattling away, and the guide's loudspeaker-amplified voice in the background.Due to poor wiring and too much background noise, we had a very uncomfortable conversation at intervals.Neither of us could hear the other very clearly.I yelled, trying to communicate with her about the choice we were about to face.And what she can receive are just some fragments.Marley...emergency...stomach...surgery...euthanasia.

There was only silence on the other end of the phone. "Hello?" I asked, "Are you still there?" "Here I am," Jenny said, and then fell into silence again.We all knew that day had finally come; we just didn't expect it to be today.Now she and the kids are out of town, so they can't even say goodbye to Marley, and I'm in downtown Philadelphia, about a ninety-minute drive from the pet sitter, for work.By the end of this conversation, after all the screaming, blurting out, and interruptions at critical moments, we decided that no real decision could be made at all.Veterinarians are right.Marley's health was in full decline.It was cruel to subject him to a piercing operation that only delayed the inevitable death.We also cannot ignore the high operation fee.When so many abandoned dogs are destroyed every day because they don't have a home, and what's more, when many children don't get proper medical care every day because they don't have money, it's going to cost that much Spending on an old dog that has reached the end of its life seems like a disgusting and immoral thing to do.If this is when Marley is called back by God, then so be it, and we want to see him go away with dignity and without pain.We knew it was the right thing to do, although neither of us was ready to lose him.

I called the vet back and told her about our decision. "His teeth are rotten, his ears are basically deaf, and his hip is so bad he can't even walk up the porch steps," I told her, as if she needed confirmation, "He also had difficulty squatting down to defecate." The veterinarian, who I now know as Hopkinson, tried to reassure me. "I think it's about time," she said. "I guess so," I replied, but I didn't want her to destroy him without telling me.I wish I could have been there with him if possible. "Then," I reminded her, "for that one percent miracle, I still want to keep going." "Let's talk about it in an hour," she said. An hour later, Dr. Hopkinson sounded a little more optimistic on the phone.Marley still held on, with an IV on his front leg.She increased Marley's odds of not having stomach kinks to five percent. "I don't want you to have too high hopes," she said. "He's a very sick dog." The next morning the doctor's voice sounded more cheerful. "He's doing well tonight," she said.When I called at noon, she had removed the IV from his paw and started feeding him some rice milk and meat. "He's starving," she reported.By the time of the next call, he was already standing up. “Great news,” she said, “one of our workers just took him outside and he can pee.” I cheered on the phone.Then, she added: "He must be feeling better. He just gave me a wet kiss on the lips." Yep, that's our Marley. "Yesterday I thought it was impossible," said the doctor, "but now, I think you can take it home tomorrow." The next evening, after work, I picked Marley up. back home.He looked terrible: frail and skinny, his eyes were milky white and covered with mucus, as if he had come back after walking the brink of death, I Guess, for him, this is true in a sense.After paying $800 in medical bills, I must have looked sick, too.When I thanked the doctor for his hard work and skill, she replied, "Everyone here loves Marley. We will all support him." I took mine with me at only a hundred percent The dog, who by the odd chance of one of those miracles worked, walked up to the car and said, "Now I'll take you home, that's where you belong." He just stood there, watching sadly. Take the backseat and know it's as elusive as Mount Olympus.He didn't even try to jump into the car.I called a siding worker, who helped me carefully lift Marley into the car, and I drove him home with a box of pills and strict doctor's orders.Marley no longer had good meals to wolf down, nor could he drink copious amounts of water with a loud sucking sound.His happy days of diving his snout into a bowl of water were well and truly over.From now on, he will only be able to eat four small meals a day and drink water in limited rations -- only about a cup and a half in his water bowl at a time.In this way, doctors hope, his stomach will remain calm and not swell and kink again.He also no longer has to board a large pet boarding facility, surrounded by barking and pacing dogs.I believe, and Dr. Hopkinson seems to believe, that he has been temporarily freed from the clutches of death. That night, after I brought him home and inside, I spread a sleeping bag on the family room floor.Marley was no longer able to climb up to the second-floor bedroom, and I couldn't bear to leave him helpless downstairs.I knew he would be troubled all night without me by his side. "We have an overnight guest, Marley!" I announced, and lay down beside him.I stroked him from head to toe until clumps of hair fell off his back.I wiped the mucus from the corner of his eye and scratched his ear until he let out a moan of pleasure.Jenny and the kids will come home in the morning; she'll spoil him with cooked hamburgers and rice as his snack.It took Marty thirteen years to finally win human food—not leftovers, but meals baked for him.Children will throw their arms around him, not realizing how close they are to never seeing him again. Tomorrow the house will once again be filled with loud noise and the breath of life.But tonight, it's just the two of us, Marley and me.Lying here with him, his somewhat stinking breath in my face, I can't help thinking back to the first time we spent together many years ago after I brought him home from his breeder. One night, when he was a puppy, he whimpered and wanted to find his mother.I remember how I lugged his cardboard box into the bedroom and how we fell asleep together, my arms hanging down the side of the bed to soothe him.Thirteen years later, here we are again, still inseparable.I think of his childhood and his teenage years, of the ripped sofas and eaten mattresses, of the wild walks along the Intracoastal Waterway, and his From cheek sway to hip dance.I think of the items he swallowed, the stolen checkbook, and that moment of empathy.And what I thought more about was what a good, loyal companion he had been all these years.What a journey! "You really freaked me out, old man," I whispered to him.He stretched out next to me, then slid his muzzle under my arm, a gesture meant to motivate me to hug him. "Glad you're home." We fell asleep together, shoulder to shoulder on the floor, his hip half pressed against my sleeping bag, and my arms wrapped around his neck.I was woken once in the night by him, his shoulders flinching, his paws twitching violently, and from the back of his throat came a doggy bark that sounded more like a cough.He was dreaming, I guessed, maybe he was dreaming that he was young and strong again.I really want to be immersed in a dream like this all the time and not wake up. Over the next few weeks, Marley bounced back from the brink of death.There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes again, his nose was wet and cold again, and there was a bit of flesh growing on his skinny body.After all the hardships he's been through, his physical condition doesn't appear to have deteriorated.Contentedly he passed his days napping, preferring to sleep on the floor in front of the glass door in the family room, where the warm sun's rays would pour in and bake his fur.He remained perpetually gorging on the little rations he was now given, and then begged or stole more brazenly and boldly than before.One night I stumbled upon him alone in the kitchen, standing on his hind legs, his front paws resting on the kitchen counter, stealing rice from a platter.How on earth did he stay there with his weakened hip?I will never know.Although the body is very weak, once the will calls, Marley's body will respond.I want to hug him in the past, because I am extremely admirable and happy that his weakened body can still burst out such amazing potential due to gluttony. The horrific events at the pet board that summer should have prevented Jenny and I from denying Marley's growing age, but we quickly returned to thinking that the crisis was just In the sweet vision of a contingency that has passed.Frail as he was, he was still the happy, lucky dog.Every morning, after eating his breakfast, he trots all the way to the family room, using the couch as a large napkin; mouth, and lift up the cushion.He would then turn around and walk again in the opposite direction so he could wipe the other side of his mouth.After wiping his mouth, he would lay down on the floor, roll over, land on his back, and swing from side to side, tickling his back.He loved to sit there, licking hungrily at the rug as if it was smeared with the most delicious gravy he'd ever tasted.His daily routine includes barking at the postman, visiting chickens, keeping an eye on the bird keeper, and circling the bathtub faucet to lick the drips.He sets the example of the runaway Labrador every day.He rampages around the room, thumping his tail against the walls and furniture, and every day I continue to crack his jaw open and pull out the bottom of his mouth with all the scraps of our daily lives—potato peels, pine nuts Pie wrappers, discarded Kleenex tissues, and dental floss.Even in Marley's old age, some things can't be changed. On September 11, 2003, I drove across Pennsylvania to Shakesville, a small town where mining is a major industry.On this infamous morning two years ago, when terrorists launched a long-planned hijacking, Flight 93 crashed into an open field due to an impromptu passenger uprising on board.It is believed that the hijackers originally intended to hijack the plane to Washington, D.C., and then crash it into the White House or the Capitol, so those passengers who rushed to the cockpit actually saved countless lives on the ground.To mark the two-year anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, my editors asked me to visit the crash site and do my best to capture the trauma and lasting impact on the American psyche. I spent the whole day near the crash site, wandering the memorial there.I spoke to the stream of visitors who came to pay their respects and condolences, interviewed locals who still remembered the magnitude of the impact of the explosion, and spoke to a man who had just lost his life in a car accident. Sitting for a while was the woman who had killed her daughter, who had come to the crash site to find some solace in her shared grief.I transcribed the many memorabilia and messages that littered the graveled parking lot.Yet I still haven't found inspiration for the column.I don't know what else I can say about this big event that has been talked about too much?I ate dinner in the city and pored over my notebook.Writing a newspaper column is like building a tower of bricks; each piece of valuable information, each quote, and each captured moment is a brick.You build your tower on a broad foundation that is strong enough to support your foundation, and then work your way up to the spire step by step.I have plenty of solid building bricks in my notebook, but I lack the mortar to hold them together.I don't know what to do with these materials? After I finished my meatloaf and iced tea, I drove in the direction of the hotel to try my hand at writing.Halfway through the drive, on a whim, I made a reverse turn and headed back toward the crash site, miles outside of town.As the sun was setting over the hills, I returned to the scene, just as the last of the visitors were leaving.I sat there alone for a long time, from sundown to dusk, from dusk to nightfall.A fierce wind blew on the side of the mountain, and I laced up my windbreaker.A gigantic American flag towered over me, waving in the wind, its colors almost rainbow-colored in the twilight.Only then did the emotions evoked by this sacred place take hold of me and slowly begin to comprehend the significance of the momentous event that had taken place over this desolate wilderness.I stood where the plane collided with the ground and looked around, and then looked up at the flag, and found that my eyes were full of tears.I counted the stripes on the flag for the first time in my life.Seven red stripes, six white stripes.I counted the stars on the national flag, and there are fifty stars dotted on a blue background.Now, this flag is richer and more profound to us. It is the flag of the United States.For a new generation of Americans, this flag of courage and sacrifice stands high in this wilderness.I know what I need to write. I put my hands in my pockets and stepped into the graveled parking lot, where I stood staring into the darkening night.I stood there in the darkness, my thoughts abounding.One of my many emotions is how proud I am of my fellow Americans, ordinary people, who rose up in the nick of time, knowing that doing so would Opportunities were destroyed, but they decided to use their sacrifices to save the lives of countless people on the ground.Another feeling I have is a deep shame that I am still alive, that my life has not been changed by the horrors of that day, that I am still free to continue my life as a husband, father, and writer. Happy life.Now, standing alone in the great darkness, I can fully feel the shortness and preciousness of life.We always take life for granted, but life is fragile and uncertain, and may stop at any moment without warning.It occurred to me that something that should be obvious but is often overlooked is that every day, every hour, every minute is worth cherishing. I felt something else as well—amazed at the boundless energy of the human mind.The human psyche is so powerful that, while enduring such a catastrophe, it can find some room for personal moments of pain and sorrow.For me, this moment is a thought of my aging dog.I feel a little ashamed because I realize that even in the midst of grieving the tragic loss of Flight 93, I can still feel the sharp pangs of the imminent loss of Marley. Marley was living a protracted time; that was obvious.Another health crisis may come any day, and when it does, I will not contend with the inevitable laws of nature.At his stage of life, any incision-penetrating medical procedure would have been brutal, and Jenny and I decided to do so more for our own sake than for Marley's.Because we love this crazy old dog, despite all his flaws—or maybe because of his flaws, that's why we love him so much.But now, I can see the time when we let him go is getting closer.I got back in the car and then back to my hotel room. The next morning, I sent the column to the newspaper and called home from my hotel."I just wanted to let you know that Marley really misses you," Jenny said. "Marley?" I asked. "What about the rest of you?" "Of course we miss you too, you jealous little fool," she said, "but I mean, Marley really, really misses you. He's driving us all crazy." The night before, unable to find me, Marley paced and sniffed the house over and over again, and she told me he was looking in every room, even behind doors and in closets. seen it already.He struggled to climb the stairs, but he couldn't find me there, so he went downstairs again, and started the big search again. "He was really unhappy," she said. He even braved the steep incline to the basement until slippery wooden stairs stopped him.Marley had been quite happy to be with me for hours in this workshop, dozing off at my feet as I worked my carpentry, sawdust falling down , covered his fur like a layer of soft snowfall.Once down there, he couldn't get up the stairs, so he stood there barking and whimpering until Jenny and the kids ran to his rescue, supporting him from under his shoulders and hips, one step at a time. Push him up step by step. When bedtime came, instead of sleeping next to our bed, as usual, Marley camped out on the landing, because from there he could watch every bedroom and the front door at the foot of the stairs, in case I came from Hideout pops out of nowhere, or comes home at night thinking there's a good chance I've sneaked up without telling him.The next morning, when Jenny went downstairs to make breakfast, she found Marley still lying on the landing.It took several hours for Jenny to realize how unusual it was that Marley hadn't been shown; every morning, he would always be the first to run down the stairs ahead of us, his tail thumping slammed on the front door, trying to get out.She later found him lying fast asleep on the floor next to the bed.Then, she understood why.When she got up, she inadvertently pushed her pillows to my side of the bed—she sleeps with three pillows—and the pillows formed under the covers where I usually slept. A large, humanoid-like block.Add to that Marley's blurry vision, so he'd be totally forgiven for mistaking that pile of feathers for his male master. "He must think you're sleeping there," she said. "I'm just telling you what he did. He believes you're sleeping there." We laughed together on the phone, and Jenny said, "You should know how loyal he is." Yes, it's easy to find selfless devotion in our dog of. I had only been back from Shakeswell for a week when the crisis we knew could come at any moment had finally arrived.I was in my bedroom getting dressed for work when I heard a horrible click followed by Crowe's scream: "Help! Marley fell down the stairs!" I ran. When I got out, I found him lying at the foot of the long staircase, struggling to get up.Jenny and I rushed over to him and ran our hands over him from head to toe, gently squeezing his limbs, squeezing his ribs, and massaging his spine.There appeared to be no fractures.Marley stood up, let out a groan, shook himself, and walked away without a limp.Crowe witnessed the whole process of Marley falling downstairs.He described the whole process to us: Marley started to go down the stairs, but after only two steps, he suddenly realized that everyone was still upstairs, so he tried to turn back.When he tried to turn around, his hips caved in, and he slid and rolled down the entire flight of stairs. “哇，他可真是走运，”我说道，“像那样跌落下来，本来会要了他的命的。” “我无法相信他没有受伤，”詹妮说道，“他就像是一只有九条命的猫。” 可是，马利受伤了。几分钟之内，他的身体就变僵硬了。到了那天晚上我下班回到家的时候，马利已经完全无力也无法移动了。他似乎哪儿都疼痛，仿佛遭到了暴徒的袭击一样。然而，真正使他卧床不起的是他的左前腿，他无法让那只腿承受起任何的重量。我能够轻轻地捏他那只腿而不会引起他疼痛地叫喊。我怀疑他是把腱给拉伤了。当他看到我的时候，他试图挣扎着站起身来迎接我，然而他的这番努力却只是徒劳。他的左前爪已经完全无法用力，再加上他虚弱的后肢，所以他根本就没有力量再去做任何事情。马利躺在自己唯一一条好的腿上，这是令任何一只四条腿的野兽都感到痛苦难堪的情形。最后，他试图用三只脚爪单腿站立起来迎接我，可是他的后肢陷了下去，所以他又重新倒在了地板上。詹妮给他喂了一颗有解热镇痛作用的阿斯匹林，然后将一个冰袋敷在了他的左前腿上。即使是在无法动弹的情况之下，马利也保持着嬉闹与贪吃的本色，他不断地试图去吃那个立方体的冰块。 到了那天晚上十点半的时候，他的情况仍然没有任何好转，而他自从下午一点钟以后就没有能够到户外去清空他的膀胱了。也就是说，他憋尿已经差不多有十个钟头了。我不知道该如何把他弄到户外，然后再把他弄回到室内，以便他可以解决内急问题。我跨骑在他的身上，然后用我的两只手紧抓在他的脖子下面，把他给拎了起来。我们一起蹒跚着来到了前门，当他单脚越过门槛的时候，我便支撑着他的身体。可是，来到了门廊上，他却愣在了那儿。外面一直在下着雨，他必须要应对的强硬对手——门廊的台阶，打滑而且潮湿地摆在他的面前。他看上去没有勇气去战胜这个对手了。“来吧，”我说道，“赶快撒一下尿，然后我们就可以回到屋里去了。”他无法按照我所说的去做。我希望我可以说服他就这样在门廊上解决算了，但是这只老狗从来没有被教过这样一个新技巧。他又单脚跳回了屋里，然后郁闷地看着我，好像在为他知道即将会到来的事情而向我道歉。“我们过一会儿再试。”我说道。仿佛听到了某种暗示，他半蹲在了他那剩下的三条腿上面，然后在客厅的地板上清空了他的膀胱，一摊黄色的污水在他周围溢开。自从他还是一只小狗以来，这还是马利生平第一次在房子里面撒尿。 第二天上午，马利的情况好些了，尽管他仍然只能够像一个残疾人那样单脚跳跃着。我们把他带到了室外，他在那儿没有任何问题地撒了尿拉了屎。我和詹妮数到三，一起将他抬上了门廊的台阶，把他带回到了屋内。“我有一种感觉，”我告诉她说，“马利永远无法再看见这栋房子的二楼了。”很明显，他已经爬完了他生命中最后的一段楼梯。从现在开始，他将必须学着去习惯在一楼生活和睡觉。 那一天，我忙完了家务之后便回到了楼上的卧室里，用我的膝上型电脑写着专栏文章，这时候，我听到从楼梯上传来了一阵喧哗。我停下了打字，然后仔细聆听着。那是一种十分熟悉的、重重地踏着步子的声音，就好像是一匹穿了鞋子的马正在一个踏板上飞驰着。我看着卧室的门口，屏住了呼吸。几秒钟之后，马利的脑袋突然出现在了门角，他从容地、慢慢地走进了房间。当他看到我的时候，他的眼睛一下子亮了起来。“你在这儿啊！”他一头撞进了我的膝盖里，哀求着我能给他挠挠耳朵，而我认为他居然可以再一次拖着病体爬到楼上来，如此惊人而伟大的举动，完全应该得到挠耳朵的奖赏。 “马利，你做到了！”我大声叫喊道，“你这只老猎犬！我简直不敢相信你爬到二楼来了！” 之后，我便和他一起坐在了地板上，我摩挲着他的脖颈，而他则将脑袋摆来摆去，勇敢地用他的下颚轻咬着我的手腕。这是一个好迹象，暴露出那只顽皮的小狗仍然还留在他的身体里面。他安静地坐着，让我拥抱着他而没有试图从我怀中逃跑的那一天，我知道，就将是他快不行了的时候了。前天晚上，他似乎已经敲响了死神之门，而我则再一次做好了更糟的情况随时都可能来临的心理准备。而今天，他喘着气，用爪子扒着地面，试图从我的手里溜走。就在我以为他那漫长的幸运旅程走到了尽头的时候，他又回到了我的怀里。 我将他的头捧了起来，让他看着我的眼睛。“当时候到了的时候，你会告诉我的，对不对？”我说道，更像是在发表一个声明而不是在提出一句疑问。我不愿意必须由我作出有关马利是生存还是毁灭的决定。“你会让我知道的，是不是？” 那一年的冬天来得特别早，由于白天越来越短，寒风穿过冰冻的树枝呼号着，所以我们都缩在了我们那暖和的屋子里面。我砍下了一株树，把它劈成了足够让我们过冬取暖的柴火，然后将柴火堆放在了后门。詹妮煮了热腾腾的肉汤以及自制的面包，而孩子们则又一次围坐在窗户旁边，等待着茫茫白雪的到来。我也期待着这年冬天的第一场降雪。可是，我也感到了一丝害怕，因为不知道马利是否能够熬过又一个寒冬。去年的冬天对他来说就已经够受了，而他在这即将到来的新的一年里则会更加明显地、迅速地衰弱。我不确定他是否可以通过光滑的结冰的人行道、打滑的台阶以及一片被白雪覆盖的茫茫大地。我渐渐明白了为什么退休了的老年人大多会移居到佛罗里达和亚利桑那州（两州都位于美国南部，气候温暖）。 在十二月中旬一个寒风凛冽的周日的晚上，当孩子们完成了他们的家庭作业，正在练习着乐器的时候，詹妮开始在炉子上烤着爆米花，然后宣布说晚上全家人可以一起看一部电影。孩子们飞跑着去挑选影碟，我冲马利吹了声口哨，带着他和我一起到外面去从木柴堆里取一篮子枫木。当我将木柴装进篮子里的时候，他便在结冰的草地里四处溜达，面对着寒风站立着，用潮湿的鼻子闻着冰冷的空气，仿佛是在占卜着冬天的来历。我拍着手掌，挥舞着手臂，试图引起他的注意，然后他便跟着我进到了屋内。他在前门廊的台阶前犹豫了一会儿，然后鼓足了勇气，蹒跚地向前迈去，而他的后腿则被拖在身后。 当孩子们排队等候着电影放映的时候，我便在屋里生起了火。火焰在壁炉里跳跃着，温暖开始充溢了整个房间，炉火的温暖也促使马利将最好的地点——壁炉的正前方，宣布为自己的领地，这已经成为了他的一种习惯。我在距离他几步之遥的地板上躺了下来，将头靠在了一个枕头上面，我的视线更多地停留在了炉火上面而不是在电影上。马利不愿意失去他那温暖的地点，可是他又无法抵挡这一难得的机会。他最喜欢的人正以倾斜的姿势处于地平面上，完全没有任何防备。现在，谁会是老大呢？他的尾巴开始“砰砰”地重击在地板上。然后，他开始朝我的方向摆动过来。他在地板上磨蹭着腹部，从一边摆动到另一边，慢慢地移动着，他的后肢在他身后伸展着，很快，他便抵在了我的身上，将他的头在我的肋骨上磨蹭着。在我伸开手臂去搂抱他的那一刻，一切都结束了。他用脚爪站立了起来，激烈地摇着身体，落了我一身的狗毛。然后，他居高临下地注视着我，他的下颚就悬挂在我的脸部上方。当我开始大笑起来的时候，他把我的反应看作是放行的绿灯，我还没来得及清楚地意识到将会发生什么，他便用他的前爪跨骑到了我的胸部上，然后，他就往下一落，重重地压在我的身上。“哎哟！”我在他的重压之下发出了一声痛苦的呻吟。“拉布拉多犬的全面进攻！”孩子们长声尖叫着。马利简直无法相信自己能有这么好的运气。我甚至都没有试图去把他从我的身上挪开。他蠕动着，他流着口水，他把我的整张脸都舔了个遍，他用鼻子磨擦着我的颈子。在他的重压之下，我简直都要无法呼吸了。几分钟之后，我终于将他的半个身体从我的身上推离开了，他就保持着这样的姿势看完了整部影片——他的头、肩膀以及一个爪子靠在了我的胸部上，而他的其余部分则抵在了我的身体一侧。 我发现自己实际上希望这一时刻能够就这样继续下去，虽然我并没有同房间里的其他人这样说。马利正处在一个漫长的、多事的生命当中的黄昏时期。后来，当我回首那天晚上的情景时，我意识到，那天晚上我和马利在壁炉前的游戏以及相互依偎，某种意义上是我们的告别晚会。我抚摸着他的脑袋，直到他睡着了，然后，我继续抚摸着他的身体，过了许久。 四天之后，我们将行李打包进了小型客货车里，准备前往佛罗里达的迪斯尼乐园去度过一个家庭假期。这是孩子们第一次离开家过圣诞节，所以他们十分兴奋。那天夜里，为了给明天一早的出发做准备，詹妮将马利送到了一个兽医办公室，在我们离开一周的度假期间，她将他安排在了那儿的一个精密护理单元，在那儿，医生和工作人员们将会昼夜不停地照看着他，在那儿，他将不会被其他的狗激怒。在经过了去年夏天他们对他的精心照看之后，他们很高兴给他提供高级狗房，他将会受到额外的照顾，但却不用支付额外的费用。 那天晚上，当我们停完车之后，詹妮和我都认为身处于一个没有狗的地带感觉是多么的奇怪。不再有一个体形超大的犬科动物不时地在我们身边碍事了，他不会再如影随形一般地四处跟着我们了，不会再当我们拿着一个袋子去车库的时候偷偷摸摸地跟着我们溜出门去了。我们终于获得了自由。可是，这栋房子却显得空荡荡的，即使有三个孩子在里面大闹天宫。 第二天一大早，我们便挤进了那辆小型客货车里面，然后朝着南方进发了。对去迪斯尼游玩的提议表示嘲笑与蔑视，已经在我为人父母之后成为一项极为热衷的消遣了。我已经忘记了我究竟说过多少次“用同样的钱我们都可以全家去巴黎旅行了”之类的话。可是，我们一家人却在迪斯尼度过了一段非常棒的时光，甚至是那个老爱唱反调的父亲也玩得颇为开心。对于那许多潜在的隐患——呕吐、由疲劳引起的易怒、不见了的票根、失踪了的孩子以及手足之间的互殴——我们全都避免了。这是一次十分精彩的家庭假期，我们把大部分时间都花在了对每一次玩电动、每一顿饭、每一次游泳以及每一个时刻的正面及反面的经验与教训的叙述和总结上了。当我们中途穿过距离我们的家只有四小时车程的马里兰的时候，我的手提电话铃声响了起来。“马利进入了昏睡的状态，”她说道，“而且他的骻部开始比以往更为低垂了。他看上去似乎非常不舒服。兽医希望你们能够同意给他注射类固醇以及止痛剂。”“当然，”我回答说，“请尽可能让他感到舒服一些，我们明天就会去那儿接他。” 第二天下午，12月29日，当詹妮去那儿接他回家的时候，马利看上去显得十分疲累，而且情绪低落，但是并没有明显的生病迹象。正如我们被提醒过的那样，他的骻部比以前更加衰弱了。医生将如何对他的关节炎进行药物治疗的养生法告诉给了詹妮，一位工作人员帮助詹妮将他抬到了客货车里。但是，在将他带回家来的半个小时之后，为了试图将他喉咙里的浓痰清理出来，他不停地呕吐着。于是詹妮将他带到了前院，他就在结冰的地面上躺了下来，不能够或者不愿意再移动了。惊慌失措的詹妮赶忙给我的办公室打来电话。“我无法把他带回到屋子里，”她说道，“他正躺在寒天冷地里，他起不来了。”我立刻离开了报社，等到我四十五分钟之后回到家的时候，她已经费尽九牛二虎之力帮助马利站了起来，并且把他弄进了房子里面。我发现他四肢摊开地躺卧在饭厅的地板上，显得十分哀伤。 十三年来，每次我走进家门的时候，他都会一跃而起，摇头摆尾，气喘吁吁，尾巴“砰砰”地扫过一切物品，欢天喜地地迎接着我，就仿佛我是一位刚刚从一场百年战争中凯旋归来的将军。然而，今天却没有以往的欢迎仪式了。当我走进房间里面的时候，他的眼睛跟随着我的身影，可是他没有移动他的脑袋。我在他身旁跪了下来，摩擦着他的口鼻。no response.他没有试图去轻咬我的手腕，没有想去与我玩游戏，甚至没有抬起他的头。他的目光空洞而遥远，尾巴松软地搁在地板上。 詹妮给动物医院留了两条信息，正在等待着一位兽医的回电，可是很显然，这又将是一次紧急状况。我给医院打去了第三个电话。几分钟之后，马里撑起了摇摇晃晃的腿慢慢地站了起来，他又想呕吐了，但是并没有吐出什么。这时候，我注意到了他的胃，它看上去比以往要大，而且摸起来很硬。我的心沉了下去；我知道这意味着什么。我给兽医的办公室里回了电话，这一次，我告诉对方马利出现了胃浮肿。传达员让我在电话里稍等一会儿，然后，她返回到了电话里：“医生说赶快把他带到医院来。” 詹妮和我彼此没有说一句话，我们都清楚，时候到了。我们给孩子们打气，告诉他们说马利必须要去医院，医生将会治好他的身体，不过他病得很重。当我准备出发的时候，只见詹妮和孩子们将躺在地板上的、流露着明显忧伤的马利团团围住，他们在向他道别。他们每一个人都给了他一个拥抱，度过了与他在一起的最后的时刻。孩子们保持着高昂的乐观情绪，他们相信，这只已经成为了他们生活中一部分的狗不久就会健康地归来。“身体要完全好起来啊，马利。”科琳用她那细小的声音说道。